i met my father through the phone
and told him the crater of despair was
too steep to escape
that theo would appear again on a retail shelf
and have traveled the same conveyer belts
tagged with the same name
but those global, plastic eyes
would be alien to mine

in the moment i am proud
of my family
it is of being the last;
the self-made boy born
with my grandfathers’ curls

(how can i tame this? this, this instinct to prey upon my humanity? and the anesthetized misnature that is my only truth?)

radio music is a memory recalled all too clearly. resting in an electric cage we take to the cemetery, a friend’s house, the museum. //

guitar wails, sighs, screams, whispers.
flick of the wrist, exhale of the mind. //

i have a hum i keep to myself
the acoustics of a hollow heart
and a roar for both us heartbreakers. //

anthems for our country and for a shared self-loathing, performer and listener. //

songs for the street and songs for the stage. wells in our throats. they’ll tell you the water of the earth is not the water for drinking. //

why are some sounds just

sad

//

stationary love. stationery love.

will we move forward?
if not, i'll mail you my heart.