Dear E----,
The bus crawls eastward like an insect:
silvery carapace and compound eyes,
broad-spotted blue-red with ads
as we scuttle along the curb-crumbs,
outpacing a decaying Tuesday sun.
In my thoracic seat I think of love,
its strangest colors and contours,
gentle treacheries and bridges burnt,
a wavering lawn of doubled sleep.
Tonight we dine on margaritas
in our cheap pub on the hill,
hope the questions all get answered,
touch feet under the table in secret.
I'm sure I wear at your patience
with this haircut I slashed myself,
my many stumbles of attention,
all my errors of cipher and code,
& the old hot luggage of my battles...
but you persevere. Look up -
the stars are champagne perlage
in a dark coupe, and all around
the living are dying; the dying are living.
May 7, 2025
May 7, 2025 at 3:14 PM UTC
Dear E----,
The bus crawls eastward like an insect:
silvery carapace and compound eyes,
broad-spotted blue-red with ads
as we scuttle along the curb-crumbs,
outpacing a decaying Tuesday sun.
In my thoracic seat I think of love,
its strangest colors and contours,
gentle treacheries and bridges burnt,
a wavering lawn of doubled sleep.
Tonight we dine on margaritas
in our cheap pub on the hill,
hope the questions all get answered,
touch feet under the table in secret.
I'm sure I wear at your patience
with this haircut I slashed myself,
my many stumbles of attention,
all my errors of cipher and code,
& the old hot luggage of my battles...
but you persevere. Look up -
the stars are champagne perlage
in a dark coupe, and all around
the living are dying; the dying are living.
