I.

I was on 7th Street;
a troop of boys was riding ahead of me, their backs

blazing in light,
small lit men full of air,

their t-shirts billowing behind them
like their swelling lungs,

as though they would restrain
or guide them—
it is the same thing.

At 4 in the afternoon
the sun could collide at just the angle

with the façade of the derelict building beside us,
half a blown-out wing —just

dissolved:
A blind man in sunlight.

Its bewildering joy in that moment,
as it stood in sun, the carved interior of its lungs

gasping in air
was enough to split the heart.

II.

He came back from his brief sojourn
at the institution

slightly derelict, like a rock tossed and left in the sun.
I could see from here

his crystalline lungs expanding
beautiful and raw in the breaking.

He muttered apologies and confessions
too desolate to fully sound them.

Unbelievably whole in body,
his remaining architecure might have stood as

only a testament to past,
a remnant.

You never think you’re going to witness
the ruin of another human being.

Sunlight and chords fractured
in the crystal prism of his lungs

remind you that he was human.

III.

On my desk, a small piece of sea glass
occupies a corner with the shells

that I stole from a beach in Florida,
one of those summers I trolled sand for a single

jewelled semicircle, edges
raised and grainy with the lapping salt:

The carelessly halved base
of something gathered in glassy waves

slowly disintegrating
among my books and shells.

At times, boys up the street ride past
on their bicycles, or pause to carry

small burdens to each other,
their dialects lost on the June air

as I watch from up the street.
They are remnants of me

looking for shells or grasping listlessly
at walls dissolving

in air and sunlight. I try to gather some
of the crystalline fragments in my hands.

In the afternoon,
salt drifting across the table,

I glean a few discordant shards,
charged with surreptitious and bewildering light.

then there are paranoid thoughts: the sink into these things: sediments of remnants and past: and somehow my mind floats above and in an under current, i taste the deep currents under my hands: are you thinking about the same things i think about? if i told you again will you remember again? these things impose a question of worth into my head: a possibility of giving up, and it is hard to repeat these cycles and know that autres will repay with their own pains and outbursts. the last thing i'd need, a cup of hot tea, a cup of being by myself: but the only thing i'd need, is to be with me. something like this pours, outside of a rain dust, coats on my, your shoulders are soft: if i was your little girl, i wonder if things would be split in two: three times are enough to make something transform into a one: take it and slash it ad watch it burn, and now that you know this hurts, can you take care? while i comb my hair? have we been entirely here? can you lift from this place? can you lift from this material? what if i took a chance, left everyone for You, i left this whole wide bed and i let the sprinkles guide me to you, will you hear the bells too? i've heard bells once before, and i wonder if you too. will hear these with me. can i accept these issues, can you do too? where else can a hawk spare time? break its legs and things move quietly through my memo, i promised by twelve i'd sleep  and lay close near you . . . near who? . . . near you . . . running checks, close to forecasting your death: and i'd like to see you, like to lick and hug you, and i'd like to be with you forever. where are the plates, sir? (sir, sir, sir, sir s,ri?) is this new? do we tongue? (tongue tongue tongue ) the flow, wretched it is, wrench and ******* a flow: reckless abandoned ship, make me question again, something that i'd do for a friend: can you take a hand and extend it, outwards into somewhere, else it has been made to sing. birds and feathers free from the art the curve of the architecure: can you tell me more about your thoughts? i tried to write out your thoughts and your hair and your eyes and your smile, yes i love your structure: saturn : you'll be at the end soon, not many years left, that perfect for us. you can settle down with me, choose to work it with me, accept all of me. maybe a rocketshoot can really pair well with god, do you see this too? two, and now a little more, somewhere the one was three, four of the many's things: yes you can try all night, to contemplate all with your might, are you catching on? you never tried to exclaim, the reasons your body's lame: in motion and movement: oil the joints and so, there you have, rolls upon pain, and tremendous spots of flames: half of you have disappeared - ; are you ready for me? sparkles of dance: are you ready for it? a roller coaster in your mind, your body flushing all the time, can you be ready for me? and if i was to touch you here, i'd like you grab me there: are you ready for me, can you be ready for this? are you prepared for it? a roller coaster in your mind, your body flushing all the time, can you be ready for me?  can you be mine?



dizzy i am
push away so much
run away so far
but you make me want to run into your arms
can you help me face it
can you help me swim
please dont let go
ill face it with my own eyes just please dont let go