9/19

and here, i can say, is
proof of our heights.
the sexual fact of your existence
echoes through my caverns
long after our collapse
pushing shapes into my walls
that are filled better
and incompletely
by men who understand
what it means to value land.

radio silence

how, and when, and where, and why?
deep, damp shadows shield our faces
from our faces, eyeless
lipless, careening senselessly like
moths, like leaves. i want to take root
in your bones
feel your morning stretches
against the curve of my back
synesthetic kyphosis, i'll call it,
and you'll laugh at the syllables
and i'll laugh at your laugh.
when, and where, and why?
it seems we've been hiking these trails
since time immemorial, since
david touched goliath,
the industrial revolution.
i've watched the smoke of coketowns
curl around your fingers,
shroud you, take you away.
i lost you in the fog, though,
in the natural way,
us both staring at the embers
of a small set of beautiful days.
where, and why?
i imagine us happening again
in a silly, barren place
with modern architecture and undying trees.
a stream flows through our house
and you wake me up with a whisper
the whole of your weight pressing through me.
hello, you say, as if it's the first
time. hello. did you sleep well?
nightmares, i whisper,
your weight too much for my lungs.
about what? you ask,
and why?

memorandum

i must have been swallowed
last night, broken down and
reconstituted as nothing but waste
i am cold-pressed juice, the
healthy, expensive kind that
tempts you at Whole Foods
or in crunchy bodegas after
obliterating yoga in a city
so large it can't help but
swallow people whole,
put them together as
romantics, idealists
destined for love
that is sharply
impossibly
finite