Member-only story
drive-by, i’m
little league. absolutely
bush yknow i’d
tell y’if i
found ya. once
when a poet spoke
the pews raptured
like expectant hands,
silent of wanting,
lightning in the distance,
cars by the front
porch on a busy
street what your
friends don’t live on.
now consonants
are a crime’s why
mosquitos dangle
needlepoint from
the sun. why stucco’s
on the ceiling. why
the sky is charged and
so can’t i. why’s
the noise of the
juice so mourning why’s
the sleep of the night
so dull. once i held you
in paris and
our bodies moved to
a foreign tune and
once i missed you at
home and once i
found the grail. what’s
more is that
i found me once
undressed in
way before when
my gracious frame
could hold my heart
and drive me home or
a woman who found me by
bookshelves beneath the
parking lot and
beat me in the
cobbled street for
free as the muttered morning,
decide what to say and then
say it or don’t and
so can’t i.
