I feel danger door can’t see where
one meaning many I do have trust
as mercury lines a hothouse petal
until for a moment she’s gone then so
smart for her own good finds paths
from clearings where ideas smudged
are ugly potent catalysts to focus formations
I am glad to talk about anything blank
like myself being a torch-bearer trying
to point but only can gesture swaths of light
meant on foam-rubber beds heels shucked
wherever she walked under windows dark
open to various infestations never animal
touch of third rail red blush on her cheek
today my tongue gets flavor of data loss
the future a sack of inert gas no one will know
to wait on more snow slush permission
I see her on a slab on a cot in a war
she will make it through she thrums anyway
doesn’t allow we may be free each to each
to slur disappointed phrases anxious ten
I don’t know minutes something happened
and the ball was out of air slapped a sill
came under sneakers now squeaks a block off
games of patience alluded to in her nod
to a third stranger a word for returning keys
those hers and it wasn’t like what I wanted
face down on a stranger’s couch close too
taking it taking it never to tie a bow
a word of concern not for all the others
a line under small fires have to burn down
to no paper no notebook no jacket no kiss
nothing for louder spaces but powder traces
the star she put in my throat like gum back up
can’t swallow two fingers split why it must
be that memory something middle outlines
I don’t know something happened a pause
I wrote this all before half knowing the end
among hatches in the evening howling steel
girders in air grievance frog mouse swallow cat
a purple onion moldering classic woodcut
shelved so she took over for a spell no favors
so you get down you public male identity got
at staircase top papered skylight attempts a tear
pull your finger out pop makes seam lower pop
jetliner on ordered dark trajectory takes me not
how will I know you landed amid frost and plans
the hands in your purse electric anyway alive
turn it it chimes a sigh anxiety rip is my fault made
now angle of incidence slower now slow now over
so I don’t have much to speak of never did
have put a bed straight could you put me down
first thought best thought class there no teacher
in Tennessee I have not made it far knowing a spear
could grow through skin through Tibet Mexico
witnesses from my hat bill sneaker toe you can take
fighting how possession wipes glasses with a rind
the one mud path we see protesters or scientists say
null and if I posed with one hand on brow
looking down chasms hidden behind door
there in surround I have said I love you
with a wound I can’t see I can’t see going solo
to a further edge perhaps last square in sad story
the heat in my quiver probably part cruel fire

Originally published in White Wall Review 40 (2016)