Tuesday, February 14, 2017

My Little Valentine 20170214

At home alone in ten years stacked like A.A. chips
Licking gum tissue with my tongue rounding the space
Four front teeth used to be
I can make a rectangle

Lips get chapped at night
Distance where the bottom edges of the frontal incisors
Would create separation, alignment
Is off

Sticky inner flesh of lip dries externally
Exposed in compacted urges to smile
A fulcrum given up to asking questions aloud
Wanting a fox to chase

The demisexual flint fails to light 
The fur of fantasies in the shower drain
Pillow talk
Conversations of head turned to the left

Imagining, “Where are you?” like a feather
Floating in another human’s bedroom
Like the quantum entanglement in the beaks of robins
Knowing positioning of the equator and the pole

Weight in heart pondering the ticks of nights
Pressing keyboard and scribbled notebook
The murky pond of wanting to be alone
The synthetic companionship of yoga

Being around bodies in the liminal distance
Where every face looks like infinity blurring
I have never known who to talk to in this world
Do not want to bother the cat people putting out fires

The past ten years, the twenty-eight before that
Pellet stoic and succumbed
Warm and needing to piss
Finding it difficult to rationalize turning on the air conditioner

For one body with children gone and dead
Stories of milk carton lovers who text fables
Cud limericks of silence and crumpled squishy ink
Bin of almost words

Sam Cooke’s archer felled to the inanity of Phil Collins Sussudio
Blaring the buzz-feed and the tinder, bumble, digital watering hole
Parched appetite for the emaciated  
Drinking bloody Mary and depression cherries

The stark laughter of hiding inside novels of acquaintance
Spoken to mirrors failing to recollect what together feels like
And it hits in the placid chilling darkness of a cornered mongrel
This bauble inside shimmering illusion

The conversations like unopened letters one keeps
Break in case of emergency
That there might be solace beneath the silence
If one is presented with a scenario that clarifies

Wishing you still believed in prayer or god or some variable
That there were a set of actions of putting oneself into the engine
Ground and oil slicked with invention to participate in the speed race
One could ride this entropy into love

Breaking apart this fossilized notion of type-writer days
Please leave the light on  

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