the boy detective discovers his body
he knows when the lights in his room black
out his body can become whatever he imagines.
some nights a dragon. some nights a field of wet
thumbs. on the best nights he is still a boy
with clothing that burns from his skin until
it’s just him floating a full foot off the bed naked
and trying to open himself so light will pour
out into the blackness. the first time he came
the room exploded into a clean bright bandage,
every question raging through his blood dulled.
his own private anesthetic. the knowledge that
no matter what matter spills out of him it will
always be light. the perfect hypothesis.
the bed that swallows him when he is done.