in dreams, the passing of trains. &i
realize i forgot what it was to fuck
with open windows. frustration melts like rocks
in the glass (like
irides in sun-
light, like hope in wet basements), leaves
a bitter fragility in the dregs.
the hours drip. suddenly,
it's two in the morning and silent, you
seeing my face with your fingers, i
flushing your secrets
with my skin. the nextday's dawn comes
drawn with shards in both eyes:
always end with a jab to the left.