you stopped visiting the ocean after your brother died
so we drove inland, instead, that day
and found the pit of old bunkers
left to decay
        from a more actively
                                  apocalyptic age
and, inside, the
      eschewal vision of
                                      tinned food,
                                                           concrete pillars,
   liquid flesh
warm comfort in disintegration,
    emerald concavities that lace the sky

we considered stealing some ****, but just drove on back instead,
  leave history to history


if you stack the boxes, there will be more space, you-
   yeah, just like that.
    the chairs have no back, sorry, so you'll have to be careful.
sorry, i just have to deal with,
  yeah, the drain pipes broke again,
   it now decants into the living room, all
  dammed up with paper mache and static

so uh
   make yourself some tea if you have to
   -ah, no, sorry, i didn't mean to be curt
it's just,
there's no time
    but stay, anyway, please

it gets lonely at night
                  all boarded windows and
                                                     old casements
till in the end you're just
              embracing a
                               damp ****** guilt
just to pass the time
           with a forgiveness complex


do you think you'd do it?
they make you wear their shirt, and take a photo,
but they give a free ice-cream at the end.
i mean, it doesn't cost you anything,
                         nothing palpable, anyway


remember that time we drove inland?
   and found that petrified forest,
                        buried in basalt and pumice?
we walked among treetops, near the old crater lake
    and
                         skipped stones