//// /// /// / /// / / ////// / / //// //// /// //// / / / / /// /// ///// // ///// ///// /// / // / / / //// //// //// // / / / / /// ///// ////// ///
today’s forgiveness: / measure day by the rain instead of by light.
//// /// /// / /// / / ////// / / //// //// /// //// / / / / /// /// ///// // ///// ///// /// / // / / / //// //// //// // / / / / /// ///// ////// ///
/ can never sleep until let go of my hand, until lover roll over. proximity-of keeps me defined in relation to. / shallow dream to be in the way.
//// /// /// / /// / / ////// / / //// //// /// //// / / / / /// /// ///// // ///// ///// /// / // / / / //// //// //// // / / / / /// ///// ////// ///
two: / wore a hat to a restaurant, mouth set. / clasped my hands. understood performance of godness.
fourteen: a mother’s sickness. enormous looming. whale belly passing overhead. but also somehow inscrutable, like the feeling that, even if watched, acne blooms are uncatchable. (why time lapses feel like a cheat.)
fourteen: instagram. controllable microcosm. cleanly defined by.
(a cheekbone glimmering in a beating room. attractive insofar as / attracted. another verb clasping for clasping for object.)
//// /// /// / /// / / ////// / / //// //// /// //// / / / / /// /// ///// // ///// ///// /// / // / / / //// //// //// // / / / / /// ///// ////// ///
twenty: invisible unraveling (“but you don’t look ___” chorus). at this point, / knew performance could misrepresent, even, especially, back.
//// /// /// / /// / / ////// / / //// //// /// //// / / / / /// /// ///// // ///// ///// /// / // / / / //// //// //// // / / / / /// ///// ////// ///
so, disappearing, / disappeared.
//// /// /// / /// / / ////// / / //// //// /// //// / / / / /// /// ///// // ///// ///// /// / // / / / //// //// //// // / / / / /// ///// ////// ///
windows the way my mom leaves the door. but / can’t smell the rain beyond pillow. beyond hair sliced off. still a shudder. like suitcase clothes worn for a life.
//// /// /// / /// / / ////// / / //// //// /// //// / / / / /// /// ///// // ///// ///// /// / // / / / //// //// //// // / / / / /// ///// ////// ///
first palms touched. glass between.
but quickly, like a runaway kid brought to a diner, when asked what would you like?
eyes filled with whipped cream, hands sticking to menu, myself awe-said, “everything.”
//// /// /// / /// / / ////// / / //// //// /// //// / / / / /// /// ///// // ///// ///// /// / // / / / //// //// //// // / / / / /// ///// ////// ///
(we don’t order all at once or we’d ache. but we come back and accumulate. the way players steal bases: settling, settling, static electricity until it’s safe to kick quick through the dirt)
//// /// /// / /// / / ////// / / //// //// /// //// / / / / /// /// ///// // ///// ///// /// / // / / / //// //// //// // / / / / /// ///// ////// ///
L says it takes strength to be reborn, so we stay a secret, don’t call ourselves / just eyes just hopping from window perch into street rivers. the joints of the storm wetting whetting calibrating into clap that takes two hands at least, a howl, a sky all light, then dark again. the day.
Leave a Reply