I think I’ve written the last poem
         Of my book, which doesn’t yet exist
               (the book, not the poem, which exists
        I swear to you) it’s about longing
(the poem) and its tricks
         This morning my roommate Nola got me a biscuit
               biscuit from the place I like
         Brown Butter and now she is in this poem
See how easy it is to get in a poem
         ll you need is to gift me a biscuit
               And have a name that is also a city
         This year no friends can come to my party
Because of covid which if you are reading this
         In 40 years which is the plan
               You might not know what that is
         Or you know because it’s happened again
And again and again and again and again​
         I lost my wallet today
               Today’s to-do list is

                              Find my wallet
                              Cut my nails
                              Get pretty
                              Make a salad
                              Fuck

               “Ok I found my wallet” she said
         You write your world how you want it
She cut her nails with trembling hands
         Did you know you can become an I
               Or a they or a he or a she
         In just one line one word even
You can be anyone I can be anyone
         relief to step outside and look
               That body’s not a body “when i was a boy”
         Said Frank “I stepped into the sky/ and I was a boy/”
Said Frank “not a surrealist!// part of the dream / is that you accept/
         Your waking life as/ part of the dream”
               You don’t need to get too sad
         You can anyways become Frank
Or a girl or I so the biscuit
         I’m saving that for tomorrow
               You can come too you’re invited
         We will have a party
A virtual party
         We are all a little sad
               Ok a lot sad all of my friends who can are trying
         To fight fascism and those who can’t
Are trying Never Again is Now is what we’re saying
         To be White is to get to write this
               Not enough nouns here where do the flowers go
         The bouquet from the farm the farm the dirt
The man the we the I now that I’m 30
         The kids are asking what do we do
               Now that never again is now Grab the nouns
         I say The Biscuit I say
The Salad the Fingernail the Flower the Farm the Dirt
         If fuck were a noun i’d say grab that too The Moon
               we all can see grab it the all
         Can see the hopeful see the hopeful all
Find all the nouns you love and hold them
         Hold all the nouns you love

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Note: quotes by “Frank” are from The Book of Frank by CA Conrad