I am the patron saint of lost eyelashes
of foggy cloudless minds
and faded neon piping

of the Ocean's Retreat
of blown out birthday candles
when the wish-maker
never intended.

I am the patron saint of loose boards
creaking and rattling
skeletons
mere shadows of
past grandeur

and the wind quickens
and the light magnifies
and sensation multiplies

but the numbness maintains its steady and resolute path onwards
into the dark coils of the future.

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10:00 pm and the streets are empty

the drunken lines I slur float out the windows

and she’s flailing in the back seat

and your eyes are empty
(are you there?)

9:00 am and the honeyed light floats in

suddenly I’m in the wrong room
in the wrong clothes
sheathed in someone else’s memories 

you fill the holes
with the corners of your mouth turned up
and your sweaty palms
playing songs in my hair

2:00 am and it’s white light and white lines everywhere

empty boxes scattered across the counter

burn holes in the carpet,
glass on the patio

the shattered remains of our night
you inform me that there’s more to life

they tell me with their bell voices and their bell jars that I can’t sink any deeper
but how can I not when it’s 12:00 AM and I’ve forgotten who I am?