Where the Boys Go

The boys are in Everett Heights

For Blue and White Week

And when that’s over

One of them will fly back to the city

And find out he’s been fired

For not telling anyone

That he wasn’t going to show up to work

For a week

He’ll move an hour away

Upstate

And lose touch

With the boys

Or the boys will lose touch with him

And aging will quickly overtake him

The boys take pictures with drinks

And other boys

And strangers

And bathing suits

And bad ideas

And boardwalks

And drinks with names like—

Battering Ram

The boys are in Everett Heights

And next week

They’ll be in Fiji

For the Volcano Eruption

That does not involve a volcano

Or any kind of eruption

Things are just words

Words are just names

For things

And nothing is

What it says it is

And in this way

There’s a costuming

There’s a façade

A charade

A something something

That could be the same something

That looks like a first draft

The boys are in Fiji

Sharing a bed

One falls out
And nobody notices

And he lives on the floor

Of a cheap hotel

Where money was saved

So it could be used

On alcohol

And little pink pills

That make you think

You’re bigger

Than you are

The boys talk about other boys

And boys they haven’t met yet

And boys they’re following

Through photo paths

And comment lawns

The boys drink

And drink

And drink

And dance

And drink

They overdo it

On underdone

Identity branding

Tattoos chosen

By committee

Piercings pulled out

Because that was

Seasonal

And the season for it

Left with the last flight home

How are they getting home?

And when?

None have jobs

Not anymore

But unlike the upstate

Upstart

They don’t seem

Worried about it

At all

One crawls through brush

To slide through sliding doors

Into a house

That isn’t theirs

The boys are in Finland

For the Three Day Three Ray event

That promises a respite

From the Scandinavian attitude

The boys are tourists

And they are not tourists

They have a familiarity

With whatever place

They land on

They move through the world

With the sort of liberation

That can only be burnished

In oppression

With the sort of confidence

That can only be coupled

With inescapable

Insufficiency

With the sort of parade

That can never be rained on

Only poorly attended

The boys are here

The boys are there

The boys can’t spell their own names

Or tell their own stories

Or let go

Of their generic

Grievances

These are the ways

They walk across the earth

These are the footsteps

Made by bare feet

And inebriated stumbling

These are the boys

The lost boys

The boys who were born lost

Who identify

With the idea

Of being lost

And who spent their lives

Looking for

Anything

But

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