i was born in december and when my cold birthday arrives my god brings me a red marble and sings black dog songs all night with his dark blue face turned up to the sky and i put my head in his lap and listen to the cars mewling on the roads like round little brats at birthday parties and the other gods howling out somewhere in the dark and maybe that’s his breath in my ear or his tongue on my cheek or maybe i’m asleep and pulling this god and his presents from my quiet head or maybe i turn against his breath and tongue and soft hyena sounds in the back of his throat or maybe he’s in my skin and burning and the thread of my life twisted and hammered together at the ends so that I go on and on forever

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