South 49th Street, Mira’s House, 2007


poem by Davy Knittle


A boy who will say temperature is a vertebral question
who has an algorithm for spiders

A boy who has a story about crayfish
about egg wash
about polyglots talking about a nap

who likes the chart of the relative heights of presidential
candidates and their successes, despite the fact that since 1900
the shortest candidate has almost always lost

A boy who makes shadow puppets
who gives physical challenges
– do this one without using the last two fingers on your left hand

A boy who asks after your paper cut-out alphabet
after trying to buy implants from an ad on the radio
after googling them
after the retiring of the holding of hands

The boy with the blue-eyed semiotic for howl
with kinetic thoughts about the weather
with highlighter sneakers (like yours)

A boy who can reset a plastic-backed kitchen drawer in its hinges



Davy Knittle