1.  Introduction

	I have grown tired and 
	weary of those boys
	who do not know 
	themselves well enough 
	to be able to say
	                           “No”
	 or even
	                           “Yes.”
	
	I’ve known myself forever
	and ever really
	I’ve never not been able to 
                                            know myself
	
	(But I’ve tried)
	
	But while I’ve known WHO
	I’ve never been able to 
	        come to terms with WHERE
	
	I’ve felt displaced ____

2.  Direct

	Sometimes I find myself in your labyrinths, M. R.-G., and it’s here
	that I fit best.
	
	Even with some sort of dichotomy of gender
	(no, not gender, sexuality)
	
	The woman’s arms were tied up by mine.
	I see the boy who leads me to a door way.
	Statues, mannequins, the sea.
	
	This was what you did right:
	you offered nothing but a location.
	
	And for people like me,
	that empty location is
	the only place I can fit.
	
	People, and the mental maps,
	are variables.
	
	Was the first thing
	that I understood.
	
	About how WHO didn’t matter.
	And about how the only thing that did was WHERE.

3.  Empty Architectures

	I tried to build a city
	my only concern for a while.
	
	I followed a blueprint found in an alley
	the blueprint was drawn by me.
	
	I hadn’t drawn it yet when I found it–
	it’s funny how things
	
	I tried to build the houses
	but I built the secrets inside first
	and when I was done with them
	I didn’t have space for any of the rooms
	
	So I locked the doors and built a tower.
	
	The tower consists of nothing but unending hallways.
	Until you get to the top, which is where I live.
	
	I forgot a lot of other things too.
	
	But I’m more concerned
	satisfied
	with the things I remembered.

4.  Narrative

I didn’t care about him, or his veins tainted silver by the will of the absence of god. He was tall and skinny, the face of a 14 year old rebel, still obsessed with James Dean and it’s 2008. He had no understanding of irony and was consistently too fucked up to realize that he was a walking definition of it. Sometimes he wanted to have sex with me. Sometimes I let him because I hated him.

We were compatible due to the fact that we were both hopeless. I had told him about a city I built, but he didn’t believe me. I told him I would show him. I tried to, but I remembered that I destroyed it shortly after I built it, and all that remained of the topography was a few stacks of books and the shattered mirrors that had decorated one of the many halls.

“Nobody ever lived here.”

“Then what was it for?”

I explained that I created it as a place to be empty, because I was so self-absorbed I needed to physically manifest something that echoed myself. He told me whatever and kept following me. I wanted to see if I could at least find the map again.

5.  Decorate

	My ideal type is
		   vague
	           but
		   specific.
	
	My ideal type is
		   the only thing I look for
	  	   but sort of just like everybody.
	
	My ideal type is
	           not me.
	
	My ideal type is
		   an easily recognizable archetype that can be molded
	           into anything I want him to be.
	
	My ideal type is
		   useless without context.

	And this is why everything works out so well.
	But never in the context that the reality based me
	is in.

6.  Question

	I wish you weren’t dead yet.  I’m too close | (...)


7.   Isolated Memories