i.
you were a field report
of illness 
of twenty mountains 
and mounds which 
we could not
step over. 
instead, we leeched 
upon boulders in
the sky, which 
eyed us down with specific uncertainties.
divided doubles of 
destruction,
presently

ii.
it touches the lips.
you bought me a drink.
with the tip of a glass, nations, countries, worlds
spill down my esophagus.
cosmopolitan, please
cultivate on the curve of a tonuge licking the lips 
inching upon the longitude of the spine

iii.
i guess we were dreaming
of other things, instead of right now.
when we were dreaming,
i was chewing the inside of my mouth
picking apples from orchards
where we never went.

iv.
instead of a journey of the world
it is not taking motions while i had the chance
this is natural
flinch.
this is time weaving braids
of memories with nimble fingers

v.
I’m scared to remove the splinter on the underbelly of things,
like the mold under the carpet;
both are soiled with avoidance.
we cannot apologize for
now until later,
but by then its always too late

vi.
i walk on the sides of my feet for months because
of the fear of what lurks
under, the tiles
is a growth unfolding from the center
and not a journey out, but a growing up
apart

vii.
a criminal chained to the boy in
a bed which is a sea
arms wide
and eyes like florescent
light. unnatural and ultraviolet
infectious affection