if all else fails

one day, i want my limbs to evaporate
into ocean air. into the kind of atmosphere
filled with so much humidity that
everyone feels like they're 15 pounds
heavier when they step outside,
like every book they meant to read
is a library on their shoulders.

i will grow wings and teach myself to
fly faster than hummingbirds, and my
hair will get tangled up clouds
when i visit rain that hasn't fallen yet.

one day, i will rely only on
old maps to get me to places
where i will find love and lunch
all on one street corner.

one day, i will learn to cut hair,
and practice on boys who stopped caring
in 10th grade. i will build cities from
secrets they tell me, i will wear only
clothes i've found in attics and backyards.

i will get lost at sea,
i will write poetry on my thighs,
i will tell stories with the gusto
of 10,000 sincere 8-year-olds asking
their mothers if they can stay out
past 9 p.m. playing King of the Hill in July,
and when i reach the end of the story,
i will start all over again
because no one ever gets the point
the first time around.