I’m playing Jenga and I’ve decided
it’s the child’s version
of Russian roulette
because she’ll never stop
not when one block falls
not when they all fall.
She wants to see it collapse.
But when it doesn’t fall,
when the blocks stand alone
I see the skeleton,
a poor man’s skyscraper.
Imagine, scraping the sky like
pavement does on that same girl’s knee.
The skeleton seems prettier than the tower
and I think it’s because those decorative pieces are gone
sort of the way that
an unadorned Christmas tree has its own standard of elegance.
So I think I’ll play Russian roulette,
or Jenga, if that makes you more comfortable,
with the broken pieces of myself
the ones with no more usefulness than the mascara on my lashes.
I think I’ll strip myself bare
and be like that poor man’s skyscraper
and just you wait.
Because I’ll rip the sky open like not even the Burj Khalifa can.
I’ll spin cylinders and pull blocks
and I’ll do it as long
as I am