When I Grow Up I Want to Be a List of Further Possibilities

by Chen Chen

The trees, a madness of white & wind, we, a madness of sweat & rope, ropes of semen lassoing each other, closer— our competing, conspiring tongues, nipples, armpits, the terribly neglected inside bits of our elbows, which we’ve dubbed “bowpits,” & kiss.

I mean, the four of you were like a quartet of elderly duchesses. (I’m sorry, later I looked you up on the zoo website & found out you were all males.)

Don’t be a stranger, but be strange.

Except it was raining, always a panicky autumnal rain with Madame, which made us crave tea & love e.e. & consider the smallness of our hands.

I admire my horoscope for its conviction. I envy its consistency. Every day. Every day, there is a future to be aggressively vaguer about.

he looks happy & doesn’t know I’m looking & that makes his happiness free.