I can’t promise I’ll ever finish
anything but I want to fill
my edges with a fine filigree
of remorse. Repeat after me.
Wait. Hold the silence close,
closer than the love of a razor
or the silvered breath of memory.
I know you want soft words
almost monochromatic, almost kind.
Soon you’ll realize I am in your way.

.

The moon is brighter

than something I want
to look at. I’m sure I am
missing the point.
On the bus to Longview
the horizon crouches
heavy, the muscled patience
of a predator. The weight of
your hamstring curving
into temptation. If I didn’t need
a cigarette there would
be only you.

.

The grease crawls

into my hands, the dead
man sings, his throat open
to the empty moon.
Blood is only a mirror
the night won’t leave.
I knew devotion once,
it is a simple lie.
The waiting for a god.

.

I bricked up the window
where I scattered a pound
of flower seeds, it was an elegy,
it is insurance against
eviction; faith? I leave the blinds
open since I painted the
wall blue like sunshine.
My hand reaches into the
space between my legs
it is a crammed in itch of a
horse too long dead.

.