Saturday, January 19, 2019

somewhere in the notes of a shut country

make me entry
make me entry
make me entry

the left hand is cold with comfort
the right burns hot without regret

a course we took, when we were young
and i can feel it in my bones.
my bones on your bones.

the smoke they wrote about complicates what was said too much.

a broken pressure makes queer shapes
they feel too much, they laugh about it
        i dream about it, their flattened touch

across a slick.  
                      they are with you. i laugh about it.
an impressive drift, amazingly fast. to eye the marrow without making it last.