If I said I did not want to live anymore,
Would you understand that I meant like this?
The years form a mythology I can almost explain.
I see in colors because they are always so much
A part of the problem:
A fire engine is a backpack and my father.
Dollar bill is a head scarf, star and crescent.
Candy-cane is barbershop and my choice of men.
Gray is skin, the bridge in the center of your eye—
Now, stirring milk into my coffee with a bent spoon,
I stir milk into my coffee with a bent spoon.