Birth Order
1
You’re it.
It is (you are)
an error
with an arsenal
of disguises,
with a system
of incorporation
built in,
with enmity,
with direction.
2
What have you got to lose?
This
gray tile roof,
gray sky scored
by power lines.
This framed measure
of distance
as intimacy.
Shadows of fingers
(mine)
move across the white page.
Anyone
could write this.
That word—
“this”—
firstborn,
unnecessary.
