I met a boy today
except he was not a boy, he was My Falcon with green eyes
like rocks from the river when they’re still wet.
This falcon had the faces of the ones before him, exacto-knife angles like a cathedral window
and with a shove, I told him that I was a spiteful person
while I wove a loose thread from my sleeve in and out of the diamond grated table top 
Deftly avoiding those slippery rocks,
staring at the points of my shoes, and thinking about my cherry red toenails hiding in wait.

I met a boy today
except he was not a boy, he was a mirror, and when I looked at him I saw only my twisted rib cage,
and I gagged on myself.
In this mirror-boy, I saw everything I hold.
I saw my mother’s cow eyes and a bowl of mangled raspberries,
and I gagged on myself
and to escape, I wrapped my arms and legs around this minaret, and clung with my fingernails to the
crude bricks of the structure
But the mirror remained below me, lurking,
so I craned my sti neck upwards towards the matte blue sky.

I met a boy today
except he was not a boy, he was My Demon returning to me with a peace offering of future resentment
and a fried egg on toast
(in a dream that I didn’t know I has having)
Our knees touch as we sit cross legged facing each other on the oor of the creature’s lair,
with its slanted walls and oppressive threats of a future without space for me to breath,
and I realize I cannot tell whether I am screaming or giggling or both.
As I watch it’s hideous face contort itself into the act of speech
I feel Tuesday morning inflict her rays on my shoulder blade,
biting at my bubbling skin,
as I am thrust into a third round of bitterness.