cxli. Breathe

i.

pressed up against this wall,
the world looks so narrow

and my own breath
is fogging my vision.

ii.

where are
you?

iii.

goodbye,
i said.

iv.

but never meant
a single word.

cxl. Uphill

the truths you’re told
are yours to debunk

if you value
your time.

cxxxix. Sonnabend

We played tag
with our eyes

and pulled scabs
from our fingertips;

Sundays drag on
for so long
when you’re choking
on words

you can’t say.

cxxxviii. Yellow

fluorescent lights
and a halo
of lightning bugs:

we yawn together
like conjoined twins,

the corners of our mouths
hurt
from laughing at
our misfortunes.

roads can only take us
so far, but
the real crossroads
are on our lips.

cxxxvii. St. Carmen

prayer beads and
paper strips
with scribbles of hopes
and pictures of your past

came down
like hail;

and lullabies are floating
past our clenched teeth,

and feedback is wailing
through our our noses…

but we’re still
alive;

we’re still
in love.

cxxxvi. Three

coincidences don’t exist
in the land
of conniving
capricorns.

cxxxv. You

a drizzle
and a lighter
in your hand:

it’s friday morning
and we’re on our way

to nowhere.

cxxxiv. Strangelove

delicate does not
enter our dialect:

we are ashes,
we are dust

that collect raindrops
and morning dew

and
    drips
            down

into a charcoal
puddle.

cxxxiii. Paper

paper lanterns burned
to ashes
above my head

and still, I
could not get the picture
of you

to burn with them.

cxxxii. Anthills

at the edge of the garden,
between the rusting tulips
and the wilting gates,

we huddled along the anthills:
guitars in one hand, and
scraps of fading one-act plays
in the other.

we sang until
we sank into

the mud.