Leaves against stars. Honeysuckle in bloom.
Possessions on this ...
I never
didn't we?
No.
I could see
the dragon in every single piece of glass
in the bathroom looking up to people
running over how did I
fall asleep that long,
the puzzle altogether. The woman
stumbling again
her can of potatoes flying against the curb
her stink coming across
the sixteen feet of asphalt
between us
the moon
nearly blacked
and still summer.
We ...
No.
Beneath the sky there is another one
I've been told.
"Are you feeling spells of rage?"
"My memory has been terrible lately."
I wanted to ask you,
something has been bothering me-
"It will take time."
You are
a destroyer on the oceans. Fire away. As long as I am
beneath your wing. That thing that casts shadows
on the waves. You know what I mean. The long guns?
Stars peaking from between leaves. Peaking and peeking
the way neighbors peek across the fence to see
what's banging at 10 P.M. I've never had that before
now is a fickle thing, peeking back at stars
with planets of their own
beneath trees too green and
surfaces slick with growth maddening and
enchanting at once.
Pick up the can. Throw it back. Not too hard.
Winter is a motherfucker. Give ankle, but not too much.
Christ, wear a bra! I can see
your bones between the diamonds skittered cross black velvet
and Summer will come thicker
than expected. The fires will smell better.
The sidewalk will fall softer.
Wipe your nose. Stop bleeding.
Pick up the goddamn can.
