Be a magician for magician’s sake.
I was so glad the orange Starburst
was at the top of the pack.
Not the pink, not the red, not the yellow.
Have you ever tried a green Starburst?
Me neither, but when I believed in Santa Claus,
he climbed down our chimney to tell me that
he and Ms. Claus fed them to the elves 
instead of wages.

I don’t know much about life,
or how to live one,
or the perfect customer service voice,
or syn-co-pa-tion,
or my future
or yours,
or how to keep suede out of the rain,
or the adrenaline I feel when I get to the end of a sentence,
or what it means when vulnerability is met with “thanks!”
or any butter but cookie,
but I do know how to give a stranger directions in this strange city.
Sir, this train is going to Brooklyn.
Ma’am, you don’t need to take the subway to go five blocks crosstown.
Little lady, this is 8th St and NYU.
I belong in all ways except the money in my wallet (I lost her)
and the school on my transcript.
Let’s make a rockstar out of you.
I don’t like keeping secrets,
but what’s kept if never asked?

I like brick.
I like old-timey shit.
I like things that are hard to do
and when my throat is phlegmy from thirst,
and things that are hard to see
and the last time we hugged
and things that are hard to be
and the mustard yellow tab from your sneaker.

So, what’s next?
What’s your next big thing?
How are you future-proofing, brain-numbing, slop-consuming?
I frolic, but I stare at my feet.
I sing, but lose my keys in the process.
I bike, but use my discount for loose pants.

So, what’s next?