Imploding Young Persons

Saturday, April 27th, 2013

Clouds burn cigarette slow, cleansing

Us on the passenger seat wrapped

In glassed curtains of fog, and nothing

Is clearer than the packaged morning,

Chills and squirrel fluffed Oaks swelling

Inside the sunroof. Sinking


In streams of her voice, I begin to hatch

In two; my back hits a grave. Two kinds

Of chest breaks: one caught like rope in

A propeller each morning eye, the other

Lost in translating a harmed face. A secret third

Unexplained; underwater all you hear is


Water. I reach for ringing in the night

To realize only spasms of my thigh.

Lightning inside my torso, my lungs

Jammed, my head burned. Rolling on

Your side laughing, you were smashed

Burning, soaring in the grass. But


What remains of days jogged up the hill,

Weeks tumbling after that sun. We ran

From hail under a tree and watched it

Scratching, flies deafly buzzing, preparing

The night with sheets for black’s arrival,

Our lung’s feast, lovemaking on its intake.






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