these are the words you are reading right now

[a poem for your feed]

which means [‘untitled’, but I’m trying okay?]

[ 1. You are all the Things ]

       The l i g h t . . . It      

                                      guides me

                          to ((you)) I reckon — 

                                         (light being 

                                                     light)

                             

Priming stars! duh . . . and

                        composing our galactic sonnets

       that lonely dust

            . . . . .

                                             in It’s passing,

                                   right? ?!      

                  Of this hopeful

                                  romantic mystery

                for which (clearly)

                                      no compass or map

                         is quite a candle

                                          (literally)

         

                   No.

                   you

                             are the painted beauty 

                             that comes in tropic lightning 

                             and it’s drunken thunder

             you are 

                                    the lost postcards 

                                    ground with the pebbles 

                                    of moonsick shores

                     you . . . you

                      are the longing 

               and pining

                       of every. trembling. atom.

        crushed in every. fucking. singularity.

you are the r e a n i m a t e d

               subatomic clocks                    

                                   so

              caught in currents

                          of the tic t i c

                                t i c k i n g currency

of time.

                   

                         you are 

          the ache 

                           I feel

        every day

                          I wake up 

    

                                                    alone.

[ 2. You. do. not. talk. about. number ]

You ever watch the 

                                    waves like curtains

blowing on the balcony?

                This c ity 

we imagine this tiny town

                                     to be,

paints the andromeda 

                                        nightlight 

                                        starlight

through our field of view

where the peripheral leaks

                               shadows —

like cartoon memories 

            whirrly swirly 

in the foggy 

         must-have-been

and quasi didnt-i ?

For an hour

                  I suppose

    they take hold 

moshing at the cliff 

where we always turn away

   after the ground slips

bit 

     by

 bit

      and our hands 

like magical signs

shake loose and drop

the tension  

               / /

           the sweat 

the clammy teenage 

      what-is-this? 

so we can safely say

no no no no no no

oh! but in our heads 

                 don’t the stars come out? 

      and in 

the infinitesimal, infinite-minute,

what-ifs and why-nots 

             ice skate these igloo puddles 

of brain.

In our heads the snooze 

              gets pushed 

again and again and again

saying please !!!!

just a little longer?

can we pretend

                       this isn’t 

                                 the end?

yes or yes 

doesn’t spare the rod

breaking off on the edge

of these turning tables.

we can tear the tags 

from the clothes we wear

but the itch is still there.

it is only when the oxytocin 

                                            drip 

pools enough 

in the pitted moon summer cave

of my hollowed out, hammered heart 

          I can look up without crying 

at the 

             still drying paints

         your feet left. (but)

It is what it is.

It is not enough 

that I conduct galaxies 

in your name.

It is not enough 

that I can counter hex 

your white washed ambiguity.

It is not enough 

that I can wait empty stomach,

fasting on my faith 

                                   in you.

[ 3. ((I miss you)) ]

         If you were a snake

                                             you would walk.