Mumma once told me 

that when i was born i looked like a pink squid She said she knew right away that i was sick, said she saw it in the slime

In the fog that filmed my depthless eyes

In the way my fathers fingers wirthed like tentacles groping the pale beach of the known new world So i left for the city

Told her i would never come back

Until i was something beautiful

Something worthy . . . jm 2016