Metal-wheel lightning my only source of sunshine,
birds of prey fall smoking from the tracks
I wonder what they’re thinking.
In this little hole in the wall of the tunnel
unexpected hand on my shoulder, condescending eyes
watch through the windows of the cars the wheels
that drum beyond my sky at night, past
this cage I call home this city
is not real. I scuttle to safety
from little laughs, stupid jokes, air that burns
in my nostrils, my neighbors are weird.
They eat each other.
New hand on my shoulder, condescending
hands jerk back, absorb the recoil
this is it. I wonder what they’re thinking
They’re not my friends.
Arms reach out, fill a sky that may or may not yet be
comets streak from fingers that may or may not be
holding the sun like a shield against the empty
radio waves of space, the constant black, the constant noise
this is. This is not.
There are eyes open to this, or perhaps they are shut
imagining possibilities with each breath that may
or may not be inhaled or exhaled, planets unfurl into being
spring from nightmares, this is a dream. This is real.
Skin blisters as universes and allegories
simultaneously burst into flames, there is
something coming there is nothing this
is an ending. Let’s begin with this.
Why I’m Still Her(e)
When I tried to leave
you came to me and held my hand
called me your love, told me you wanted to fuck me
that was all it took
because I’m easy that way.
I remember thinking
that I really should tell you to stop, I mean it
I’m really going to leave this time
but the flickering of the overhead lights was too distracting.
An endless rumble of thunder on electric rails
lightning and haphazardly-thrown buckets of rain
kept me close to you, even after that night
it still feels like a sign.