traipser ninety-nine

bric-a-brac boy
does not want to leave
he wants to take us with him
into the belly of the blue blue sea
and build black houses
where the light stabs the deep

bric-a-brac boy
has tack on shoes
and walks the plank
with nary a dime to his breath
and touts his own trout
when he teaches men to fish

bric-a-brac boy
with his oily molars
holds a slippery stitch
to play on the piano
where he picks his fights
and his friends and their noses

bric-a-brac boy
is fixated on our aition
and falls in love with us
erecting meals of pitch
under skies the color
of vaginal mucus

bric-a-brac boy
can see it now
he has the heat visions
—the earth is the enemy
we are so very close
but he cannot take us with him