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Thursday, April 5, 2018


if I tell you demons hide among its chemtrails will you quit the sky?
if I conspire with cloudlessness to deprive you of rain will you live on in this dustbowl because this is what I want—a poverty of love?
if I want for nothing will you offer it?
if to own is thievery will you take from me all I have gathered, name and shoe?
will you hold my hand as we cross the steppes until our skin is bitterflayed, drifts of meat and bone the horses won’t eat?
can you be this desperate, for our death, life, for that brief intermission when the dry ice tumbles from fused hearts like fog?
if I beg, will you eat my rice and my emptiness?
will you, when it is time, sweep my specks into rising clouds above the dry grass?
and when the grass dies, subsumed by ghosthoof and sorrow, will you watch the trees take down the sky?
will you inhale as they wield pollen in a war against the worldlung?
if no one wins, which no one will, will you know no one to be mine and welcome her into you like an unmet daughter and love her even as you are taken apart?
because I would, I will, hold your no one in all his hypotheses and let him let me, unspooling my vapor into his vague arguments of blue—even if this is very nearly the opposite of breathing.
which it is, my love: this is my shoe, the hard steps I take to stay among you, and it is an unheeled, unheeding thing.

1 comment:

Radish King said...

This gave me THE SHIVERS. Superb.