honeydunce

Bends of my lip ripped and broken, I think of you. The smooshed together word parts of you, the poetry and pacing–box fan
hollers of a room living. Ships in the middle of sinking, as if waves are parenthesis. I pause here. I read the ones I remember,
follow their entrails along the ocean floor. Most of it rotting away, pecked at by curious gill-keepers and less affectionate
outcasts with drag-drop arms. Sharks find your kind poison(or maybe one of their own) and stay a distance worth noting.
Bathing beauties smoke cigarettes around midnight when the moon is up and lantern-like–all wet headed young-20’s stare drunk
and start confessing(one gazes long and empty at the other, “Are you even inhaling?”).

You are this. Or a crate lost in the woods. A film left on in the abandoned blue, a dead body before you–anything dead or
dying. Veins that smell and act like trashcans, their pinpricked mouths work out the needlepoint. A jar, some bottles, a squat,
a dream–traveling failure. A neighborhood in darkness. Bruised father(barely), hugging funk to your middle and losing limbs
every time you turn around.