Find me by the hours, the ones
you’ve slept through, in the jokes you missed
and graffiti paid no mind, in the fungus of books,
the parchment gone the way of papyrus, and the long view
doctors might’ve mentioned that day
you were born.
Look for me by the rusted car parts, husks of steel beetles,
no sinew. I’ll be scraping the cuticles, the charcuterie
down to slivers of tungsten, while batteries
turn since there are other
ways to pay.
Catch me, toasting by the post office, emptied of letters,
stuffed to the windows with pigeons past
their carrion point, hollow bones
won’t ship ground