"WE'RE"

turning over
another sharp wing
only to read ,
‘is the dead swing happy?’

we sit
inside
a bird’s tear

snap open
tricks of light

fall
in love

with salt


-

u can’t see me now
my hips are failing
and the oracles see
tips of heaven being gathered
just for angels to
grenade

-

this is so mixed up
like
drunk dials
are the guts
on your lawn

-

doused and devoted in the nights of nod
river boy
u dropped your snuff bullet in the parking garage


-

our private joke is

'pray to poseidon from the glory couch’



listen
soft chorus sounds

then
miles of highway

to
a party in bloom
you try to
drag out the first move
so that it is
permanently spooky

concrete in the periphery and then
these kids fire-escape someone
as

violent
ribbons

&

the whole feeling
an oil spill in the grid

it
benadryls us

&
i trace your smile ;
it’s like a constellation