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EVERY AGE
that unwanted heirloom i thought i’d lost not sure why the slow pace weird shadows plane passing overhead sunset near whatever touches us touches tender flesh always running warm last blooms under a backlit development hum along with nature all of it encompassed or just your own hmm where am i now zoom zoom older than i was feels apt slipperiness as a materialism dreaming of some place far-flung without masks on some low wandering on the floor where by choice i sacrifice direct light for whomever scratches my back first memories wilted by the past would love any time to attend to others we share stakes stories cages this high tolerance for pain and secrets indecision over new dawn remember not knowing if i’d never get one more boredom haha companion in process so cool to not be lonely touchpad vibrates utterly perverse diegetic power inside reconciliation estranged from the bodies in question ex flower blossoms clean dirt and dirty dirt nodding now dead now wake us up with a splash of water faint sounds too many plans no fear of moving fortune around wrong time unpaid morning feels like air’s arrival revival rather old not without self liberated how does everyone hear i don’t my page quietly out of frame <3 -------------------------------------------------------------------- WHERE it’s a day for truce: sundown pale and polluted like an old apartment wall as faded as any partition’s destiny we seek its opposite sides typical that I should hug the plaster impermeable self-image while you repot flowers on your balcony they adjust their stems to avert the dark and finding no reprieve from it grow intolerant toward metaphor in the asperities of your touch or the tear of dead roots or the shock of transfer or the confines of their ceramics tempted, yet? will either of us be safe? later, hunts point, a bus that reads “corrections” tells a lie we might only know from jail that this pandemic is an ally to the executors of control and a gif of a cop getting smacked in the face plays on loop in my mind v tells me that I missed the real thing minutes ago, regarding elsewhere one moment, far-off silhouettes in a travesty of recreation the next, gone is this still a conversation about safety? The truce here is that we do not rip the gate apart ourselves rare croon of a gull overhead there’s no way it sees this scary runoff as water or the asphalt from which it leaps an island I’m learning not to assume the illusions of others including a bird’s-eye view that would tell us we’re inevitable I’ve never felt so clear no one is just you |
