Really, Boy is more than just a suntanned diphthong 

that dives from the tongue. Round town, false rumors bristle 

& stir like raised hackles on a dog’s back: arcade-game animal 

dreaming amphibian; Tai Chi master bare-hand-chopping

a river in half; or, close enough, southpaw atom-smasher 

who can throw a first-pitch strike at the speed of light. Let’s set 

the record straight once & for all: Boy is always 

a breathing but never a hollow. Early-rising Boy 

is the sharp neck of a swan cutting 

through dawn the color of old rum. Cracking open the night

sky’s icy hard skull, Boy is always the northern lights

but never the enemy. Boy left alone is a bullet  

-proof bet, a live bait for a better wanting, a brighter 

melting. Boy cries because it is porous

& misunderstood. It clings to the air around

it, the very air that it comes from

& will return into. Since Boy breaks easily 

when loved, it comes with a ‘WARNING: FRAGILE’ 

sticker & a warranty that guarantees

a replacement Boy, all Titanium & heartbreak-free, but

nevertheless not Boy. How do you know 

what you have is the real Boy? Easy: you can 

never have Boy. Extinct in the wild, Boy is the only

Boy in the world. Neither can it stay in captivity, for Boy burns

through metal & stone or anything that holds it back 

rather than raise it up. Slam Boy hard into the dirt & you’ll see 

it bounce right off the face of the earth. Boy cinches  

a cumulus around its waist, licks 

ozone off its lips. Boy crackles 

loud & remembers.