Zoo (prose poem)

If our world changed, i wouldn’t follow. I don’t follow. People, things, animals, women, nada. They don’t follow me either though. You ever been to the zoo? It’s free to get in so that surprises me. Well, in the zoo, there’s a bridge with a view. And you don’t know if you should look at the buildings in front of you or turn around to the living animals behind you. Well, there are living animals all around you. Stare at the buildings that don’t move or react. Stare at glass towers filled with paper and ink. Stare at the unmoving oceans of polygons. Stare at a square. Or stare at the animals. Not the animals in the zoo. Well, I mean, they are in the zoo. Not the animals in the cages. Well, I mean they are in cages. Not the non-humans. Stare at the humans.

There is no language for what it feels like to be punched in the stomach. At 3 in the morning. By your brother. You got blood hanging around but the smell of pine helps. You pretend that you know, and that’s cool. I had just peeled an orange. I left a strange gummy pulp the color of old window blinds lodged in what remained of my fingernail. I bit it off the day before. Oh, by the way, an orange’s ponytail is not edible. Its baby hairs not worth it. Only the spirit of an orange is my homie. The underspirit. Normally. This one just sat there and didn’t help…He punched me at 3 in the morning.

There were lots of flavors to my parents and their church. They were both born from the scream of the same whistle. But a month apart. Like dogs staring at a cloud that looks like them. They freak out more than everybody else at the situation. Church is weird, but it gets you. “Gets” you like “understands” you. For example, like you “get” or don’t “get” why they’re doing this to you. Then it gets you. It gets you, then it gets you. It applies to all humans and all rats.

My favorite color today is green. It usually is green, but changes often. Sometimes its a faded, unvoiced orange and I’m sure you can read between these lines.

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