Your heart is five eighths of a pound and fits inside of life
which will mostly be an evil pancake and a game of
tattoos you don't want, but sometimes good things

too: everybody on a bus laughing together at night,
towels just warm, dumping rock salt into homemade
ice cream, the scroll button on your mouse,

drinking coffee in the shower, then drinking coffee
together with your favorite naked person at the time
who will be a girl or a guy or a gluttony of sympathetic

polymers. Any one of these is fine. Ask your dad,
he's from California. Nik, be careful who you take a
nickname from. It's like they'll always have a hand

under your shirt. Names are secret fingers.
Show up a minute late with a really awesome
story of what happened on the way. Listen in your

head before you say things out loud, try to know
reactions before people drop them but don't try
too hard, which is the same advice as, ?Don't use

speakerphone, ever.? When you take someone's
picture, show them. When you kiss someone's
neck, tell them a secret. If you do it right,

God will show up when you're mid-blink
like a fire that is also a window, like a trial by
snow, and you will want to close your eyes if

whispered to by one, and take your eyes and
heave them into the ocean for someone
else, which will feel both melodramatic and

perfect. Everything you feel will also be a way
to hold on. Social groups will always have that
one friend. There will be things you save to tell

someone that you'll never get to tell at all.
Fear is what happens when you sing too quietly.
One night you will go unexpectedly swimming,

then you won't need this poem anymore.
That's when to title me and dunk your mouth
and spit straight up so the water lands on your

face. Tell who you're with, ?Look, a face!? and then
give your face to that person as hard as you can.