the nearest unsteady light a burn barrel that wouldn’t accept the flowers i bought you the oven that ate the pumpkin pie i’ve put the rest of you in a box
please don’t ask if you don’t want my answer. please don’t ask if you don’t want me because i’m assembled from memories that could be lies missings so muches and i love you toos and i think of you all the times.
maybe it’s because you taught me how to play checkers
in bed
and i beat you the first time.
maybe only a poet could ever deserve to love you.
but i tried to learn your language
the subtleties and nuances of you
and there were great plains of you i never saw,
but i wanted to with everything i had.
which edges were lies?
that there are people who will wander the world,
never knowing the path of damage they leave behind,
always convincing themselves that it’s okay to walk away.
that we are downgraded.
that he hoped that someday, someone would feel for him a fraction of the love he jettisoned into the world.
that there are people who deserve your touch more than i ever could.
that there are some trips you have to take alone.
that i am faithful to dead causes.
that there are no second chances and barely any firsts.
that we can be cheated of futures that were never ours.
that i will never forget the airport.
that i put holes in my body.
that we ran through a city and we were in love.
that i’d go around by Doney’s
to see you once more.
to laugh at that.
with you.
you told me where i stood.
i fell down.
to learn that language, to speak with your tongue
i’ve forgotten your taste but only mostly.
you were imprinted.
you’ve given me a window to count every fiber of my being, and every one agrees:
my worth has an inverse relationship to proximity.
maybe if i were a poet,
i’d give my life for yours.
i’d walk those streets with you.
calling all certainties forth to question: think, miss, love.
the heart’s sudden inability to unravel memory from lie.
we had a song.
the way a jaw works over words that won’t form
the way the chest hitches as the devastation soaks in
the gasping, flailing loss underlying disbelief.
of course you’ll see me again.
of course you’ll see me before i go.
of course i still love you.
of course.
of course i miss you.
think about you.
dream of you.
of course you’ll see me again.
of course
i’ve never seen any of them again.
of course.
because i would come to you
over the water
through hills and memory
i would come to you,
i promise.
through the fragile web of the distances between us
accelerating into turns
never looking back,
i would come to you.
i would run.
i would promise.
if you asked me.
i’d run alongside your code forever
girding for wars of desire without end.
was never known to command respect from his peers was known to steal his fourteen minutes in fragments was known to sometimes allow ashes to burn on his forearms and face while waiting patiently for them to gutter out because at least it was something nearing proof that he was there at all
jog shuttle to pause, play: rupture, rend, rive, split, cleave:
edited a past away.
what you thought would disappear lies and waits.
it wasn’t love but it was something as painful.
OF SPLENDOR, OF MISERY
“If we’re going to do this,” Jean Reynald paused to snuff out the unfiltered cigarette between his fingertips and the ashtray glass, “I want my ship back.”
“That’s.. impractical.” Cellophane wrapper crumpled in Paul’s hand. Next, foil. These late-time strategery sessions were bronzed with a nicotine aftertaste. “We’ve looked for—”
“Maggie or nothing. That’s the deal.”
“I can’t just—”
“Paul.”
Eyes lock across distances deeper than a tabletop, a war machine. “Fine. We’ll get her. Any other requests for your strike team?”
“Only two more. Relatively easy.”
“Let me guess—”
“Simon.”
“And pilot?”
