The Poetry Project (Written with Drew Boston)

I can see myself crying in this room.
There are moments, real ones, that I see you.
Behind the act is the poised instrument.
Be kind to someone who is not in trouble.
The light and darkness, both broken into
Filaments, light houses, burnt limes
Dropped into cocktail glasses from
Precipitous judgment seats.
See, I’m not scared of you
Here in this vulgar sepulchre.
I am king of myself, mostly myself.
I’m changing Istanbul’s name back to Constantinople.
I’m building a room that I will fuck your mind in.
Polis is this.