Friday, May 6, 2016

something, on fire, emerges from the gas station bathroom
     & slides into your car. 
eyes like watermelon, sweet soda, 
let's imagine everything is a something

the entire past condensed
into a single exhale of smoke 
out a single window. the moon,
throbbing with a sadness i would not find a name for
until losing you.
a new forest just means
something bad happened here 
     & our bodies, marbled with wine stains, 
happened here too.

the house i grew up in; on fire, 
the blackbirds in the ice-rink parking lot; on fire,
the sun always warm on 
one arm &
the sun, the sun;
on fire too.

call it a controlled burn, 
call home
mothers and fathers
with swollen knuckles in a rotary phone, tell them 
     "i'm sorry i've been distant but
         i just didn't want to be sad anymore."

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