chronic refugee

breathe like the sum of all parts

can bring back the whole.--lisa gordon



will work for food will walk for food

will pull chipped blocks from rubble straighten

sheared tin walls for food.


privation's constancy suckles our flesh
moving cross broken landscapes and gravel buried
canned beans. genetic images form
my skeleton, grown from all the bones
i've gnawed and have bitten.

stasis in the circle with legs inside.
a curved, unequal pie. apportionment.
i'll take this slice, first servings. you can camp
on the diameter, packed tightly. will walk
for food, bringing babies and novel beginnings
to color the circle as the borders finally melt.