sitting in on
fictions
not meant for escapist
ears like
mine,
grown deaf to words
that dress the
world
in anything but
feathers.
shadow play
swallowing
tunes,
tracing lyrics along
shrinking
screen,
sliding into
bubble
water-
whispering
obscene.
no, i will not miss it,
though i’ll crave replacements,
do you still study
stars
through the roof of
your rustproof
civic?
or are you racing home
to meet curfew?
are his eyes still
blue?
said i’d never
miss it
but i
do.
a kiss behind
a veil of
mist,
you never
noticed
from too safe
a distance,
but now we’re inside
where its clear
and dry
and still can’t find
each other’s
eyes.
hands clasp, just as
you pass,
keep on, nothing
to see
in chest cavities
of many
swells a cunning
curiosity,
and i’m really no
no different
though i try not
to stare.
kitchen chair still
holds your
shape,
though you’ve gone
missing for
all days..
turn grey now
sun won’t
reach
you
as much as i’d
love to.
stale paint
cracks in sunlight,
settling into
today
in a way that negates
time
reminding me that
i’m not
here
and you’re not real
though you
appear.
bonfire of dead
letters
unearthed and
torched–
sending specters to
their slumber,
we
breathless
blowing embers,
may dawn reach us
where we
shiver,
eyes shaded out
by smoke.
madness gnawing at
the feet
of under city
baring
teeth,
sunk eyed nursemaids
wiping drool,
coma pools
in split wide streets,
polluted by stale breath
beliefs,
uncover mirror,
face new
dawn,
unclasp chain of
nights gone
wrong.
my face like a
freezer,
stuffed with tv
dinners,
cooking like a teenager
binging on
tiktok,
this room could use
a dimmer,
this late into the
evening,
i don’t feel like
eating..
so i chew on
rocks.
hands in the garden 
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