Let it flail,, let it bite down.

Cloned and left on the couch,

while the other half one went out for errands,

for seconds.

Snippets and fragments of haikus left behind, like half drunk milkshakes,

a flurry, and we’re milk, after being exposed to the sun

turned backwards,

after being exposed to the sun

I am dizzy just holding my head up, carrying it like a sword.

Looking down, and not even keeping track of what was in the mailbox,

Let that sink in.

We’re milk; we’re flailing,

carrying all that weight and those sounds like a sword ,

growing right from where you left off,

not really sure if cursive is the way to go out, to sign off,

or if the answer is silence,

or silence.

Out of body

and dumb,

I’ve ruptured; to be fair,

trying to push its way out of me, I am .

Numb and repeating myself

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee they are.

I’ve already ruptured; to be fair.

dumb, and spiraling under warm lights,

under the warm release,

and now without it; despite it.

Howling at the moon, because of it.

Now that the that current and the caper have slipped through my fingers,

all of that pageantry, the mystery,

and what’s left of the of the foundation ,

all illuminated and thriving, and gone.

Only visible from the very top anyways.

“Over the top, grandiose,

Impressive and imposing, in appearance or style

especially pretentiously so,“

That’s the reaper.

Whatever was on the page, between the lines, feeling around for awhile,

exactly what’s on the page, and what’s in the water, ( its turquoise)

the very definition, exactly what touched our feet, ( it’s turquoise)

We were still able to add a few more chapters,

a few more chances,

a few more drops,

a few more anemones;

to thrive, to bleed;

to postmark,

among the grandiose, among the living,,

the thieves and the second thoughts, ( its turquoise)

with my back to the valley; back in the valley,

until we get it right/

We just now learned how to go back easier,

to refresh,

It goes by too fast, too smooth; like a comet.

Even when were learning new things,

.On my back, eyes like onyx,

plagiarizing myself,

nursing my wounds but keeping my comments to myself.

Using two words when I should just just one.

down that way, through the hole in the fence,

waiting for them to let their guard down,

waiting to see that comet streak across the sky , and I can finally see my breath.

waiting to take it too far,

and I can see my breath.

When I close my eyes I can see the sunset,

can feel it take hold,

can see

sunspots,

solar flares,

or hummingbirds, maybe.

Until I can see my breath.

But your feet were too hot to catch it all, to mop any of it up,

slowly sliding across the cold floor.

Like a spider,

spread out, waiting

wrapped up, wailing.

To start a sentence that way; to start forever that way,

to fear the spiders and the slow motion, especially from three stories up,

but

but,, nothing

but ,

and beyond.

This crescendo which we have hit before,

looks better at night

more complete, more competiv3,

closer to sterling sliver now more than ever.

It fades in the day, with the day; seize the day,

in the light, floating away; tarnished.

Washed ashore,

with the day.

We’ll celebrate the victories,

and the knockouts,

the ones on dry land and the ones at sea.

The dreams we don’t remember,

and the knockouts we try to forget;

with the days bleeding, in between the margins.

I should have maintained my lane,

my property line,

my topography.

, I should have been more careful where I started, and how.

It always about me, and its the last time I’ll change; or disembark.

without looking or wanting to look, ahead or behind,

without gathering at the capital, or meeting at the coast, in secret.

I am light,

bending in on myself,

racing myself,

perpetual streaks of blue,

coastal streaks,

losing streaks,,,,

Falling forward and then dissipating into mist.

not really considering anything, except for how the soft corduroy feels on my legs.

on the island,

across my face,

the contested city, that took so long to reach,

staring into the screen, into the sun?

and all of Parma seemingly staring back at me,,,

with our sunglasses on, and the look on their face,

staring back at me

so violent .

so blue.

I cant remember all the titles,

so we may use some twice,

but the lights in the furniture store are still on and they always are,

even at night, especially at night.

The lights catch your eyes and the sofas and the unlit lamps and and some the choices that have been made ,

the light catches passivity and stray dogs, forgotten in the rain,

your tears,,,

the light catches up to all of it.

Peel off all the operations,, the imperfections,

in any order,

the square root of something.

Rip the scars and the scabs off right along with the landscape,

coming back over and over , all at once.

asking for more time, all at once.

and fewer landscapes, all at once.

Returning to the house with the high grass,

and encouraging me to remember the green vases,

and never forget them….how could I?

But I did.

and somehow there was a tunnel under it all,

under me and through my veins and the smoke and the peeling windows,

with each keystroke,

two different stories conversations took place,

I can grow stronger or more fearful ,

;;;;and I never did.

I’ll have to ingest all this dread, and navigate the tunnels to, and mind my veins, and the vases.

I just thought I should say it out loud.

Drifting off to the aquatic, gurgling sounds of the buzzing dishwasher,

there is a lot to unpack,,,,

a lot to remember,,,,

Ignoring the wet floor signs,

I’m talking, walking right by it,, without a thought.

I’m taller than this, bigger than that.

Strung up with moderation, worried that you wont understand the sport,

and hung up on dreams,,,,

Cant understand the sport , or even see the ball clearly .

cant understand why the dreams come and go,

cant understand why you’d start a sentence that way.

Despite the volume and the density of the playbook, and not being able to see the ball clearly.

Despite not being able to reach the smoke detector that desperately needs batteries,

despite having never being able to detect carbon monoxide in the first place,

You choose how you descend , and in which fashion,

its always all about the volume ,,,,,,

or the ball or your feet,

or the dead and dying batteries

or the tasteless, odorless winter,

either way,,,,

I am not sure what makes it good,

or if it is, or will be or

has been, already.

or why I like reading it back, sometimes

and it doesn’t make sense other times,

or why we spend the time, in kingdoms.

Were better off keeping it all, keeping everything outside, in kingdoms.

With the creeping black dread that if your not careful you’ll slip on

and the creeping clack clouds that if your not careful you’ll slip on

never being able to sit still,

and always changing my tune,,

to match the colors behind me,

getting my hopes up,

to match the colors behind me.

The fleeting thoughts, they bleed through, and remain permemant,

visible on my hands days and days later.

We keep all of that outside,

with the dogs who are relatively unknown ,

with that one light that is always out,

and the sweetest songs and the winds and dial tones,

they are sold out, outside too.