we threw glitter
at midnight
to taunt the burning moon
and those embers
never came down
they just floated
and glided
like turkey hawks
tryna make sense of things.
we were
tryna make sense of things,
and somewhere
between desolate isolation
and the pulsing throng
of enchantment
is a man I call myself
but he keeps losing shit
and calling it a virtue.
I’ve got to stop losing things.
I’ve got to start
losing myself.
what is all this light
if not safe passage
through darkness?
where are all these bubbles
running off to burst?
shake me in your
snow-globe-magic-8-ball
where we got so high
we looked like
Orville Redenbacher
raining down over the city.
it was you and me
in a landscape.
we kissed feathers
of swollen exposure
and when the aperture
tore wide open
we marched like
toy soldiers to the beat.
we beat ourselves up
in the workshop
then spent all night
putting each other back together.
we were happy just to level
the bassline,
you slid safe –
coming home in my bassline.
I trembled
and the treble and pitch -
it was more
than I could’ve expected,
and you told me to take the
lighter fluid out of my expectations.
and we laughed
we ripped bong hits until
our lungs were wide as sky,
full of the thick white promise
of a heightened moment.
you said; "follow me into
the morning" and I mistook that
as an invitation to stay up all night.
we stayed up all night
stuffing duffel bags full of feathers
in case either of us needed to break loose.
I was always trying to break loose.
you flung your bag, seems split,
onto my door step and said a prayer
in some kind of gibberish or holy tongue.
I was never very good
at reading between the lines.
and we climbed margins like beanstalks
toward an avalanche of ever-afters.
it all came down like sunday morning
right before checkout
when you couldn't find the key
and I reminded you
that the front desk
really doesn't care
about those kinds of things.
they really don't care about much.
they just want you out on time.
they just want to make it look like
you were never there
but we wove woes and oms
into the rugs and drapes and
left lines etched in the ceilings
where we both lied
on our backs
marveling at our vulnerability.
I kept telling you
it was a virtue
but you couldn't hear me over
my whirling stupidity.
it was stupid to break down
in that hot tub.
I'm not sure if they build them to last.
so we tested the integrity
of my porcelain promise
and we both spilled out
in the flood.
I kept trying to save you
but all I could say was;
"happy birthday"
as I pushed you under.
they'll always remember us here.
