I will sleep inside your lunch
I feel as if am aware, yet unaware of what is happening.
I’m being driven by a man, though I don’t know his name, to a town full of sea women. Each of different authority. Each pointing him in the direction of an abyss where we will be able to sit.
How much will we enjoy the solitude? More than I expect, I suspect.
There will be smoke floating through the sun that is coming through the window to let us know that the day has come. There will be soft whispered lyrics, being pushed upwards in the air by the sounds of vibrating resonance.
There in all of this, spirits will freely roam in between the cracked woods of our walls, they will rest upon our shoulders, to hear our breath leave our lungs. To remember what they once had. To feel life once more.
Oh how I will long.
When you ask me to describe fear I say my mother
smelling vodka on my breath at seventeen. I say loss
is trauma stealing an entire month from my memories.
Superheroes always have broken hearts and tragic
back stories so maybe I’m doing OK. In my dreams we
are brave enough to leap tall buildings in a single
bound and see through walls and also never lie to
Promise me this: when you finally leave me, you’ll
get creative. Tell me I was more disappointing than
your childhood. Send me your bloody ear with a letter
saying “I’ve got to Gogh. You’re making me crazy.”
I am hard to love but know this much: you are the
only thing I like doing more than writing poems.