L-,
It's a lonely acid evening,
citric-salted, hung like a skin
on headlights that rise
& split into orange antlers.
A woman screams "Barry!"
into the alley, over and over,
until night climbs over her
with black, grinding knees.
Sweet Saturday carvings
are Sunday's rack and bone:
after your lobby debut
(your eyes fine as sea-thread)
you spun away, you are still spinning.
The heart's ever-after is knotted:
I thin you with gin, smear
that clever flash of teeth and lip
into the cold hollows of air
that clot the mid-month.
Listen: the alley woman
gave up on Barry.
Yours,
E-
Oct 17, 2022
Oct 17, 2022 at 9:07 PM UTC
L-,
It's a lonely acid evening,
citric-salted, hung like a skin
on headlights that rise
& split into orange antlers.
A woman screams "Barry!"
into the alley, over and over,
until night climbs over her
with black, grinding knees.
Sweet Saturday carvings
are Sunday's rack and bone:
after your lobby debut
(your eyes fine as sea-thread)
you spun away, you are still spinning.
The heart's ever-after is knotted:
I thin you with gin, smear
that clever flash of teeth and lip
into the cold hollows of air
that clot the mid-month.
Listen: the alley woman
gave up on Barry.
Yours,
E-
