your house was yellow.

my house was blue and
a ten by ten box;
a cage and me trapped,
torn between pushing
them out and watching them
we needed a spark.

but the railing tumbled on my
sprinting ankles,
the basement rattled and the
floorboards dropped
filling the place with the kind of emptiness
that is so dense it smothers.
smoke smells a lot like ticking minutes
if we scented time the way we
spray each other.
I hear a bark.
hope the turtle remembers how to
duck and cover.
the cat’s sure got it.

remember me as a black-winged fury
hovering over your bed at night because
there will be nothing left by dawn
except some burning blue
cedar wood and cheap combs,
photo albums of learned feelings,
dusty cookbooks, vanished remote controls,
asbestos, fiberglass ceilings and
a cancer that gnaws through the joints
like packs of rats chewing through cables
to take the attic back.
I’m coming too.

I really miss your hands on me|
and the convivial cluster of caterpillars
that swallowed the bark
before the devastation of the forest
as you held me for a while
in incubation, before
I made way for us,
the start,
and somewhere,
an empty crib stays unfurnished.

someone starts an engine.
the varnish is melting and so am I.
 God gave you a chance and
        an unfinished smile.
a smoke alarm malfunctions
mocking your reluctance
to just grin and bare it,
to just open up your arms
and catch me when I jump;
   but first here comes the fish tank
catch me with all the fit I threw.
we all look like burnt books
blowing in the breeze
I’m wafting with the exhumed memories.
before my legs even hit the dew,
you watch me dwindle to a million floating pieces
in the cradle of charred trees.

you see the contract ascertained a certain
ephemeral appeal
and I’m too thirsty to complain
about anything but the heat in here.
hold your breath and wait
for some other current to take me.

there are no exits.




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