Opposite Of Elation

Here to attend to a light that I’d nearly forgotten. Aside and at times apart, yet here we are this side of letting go of suppressed beams that held my light up, and bringing forward instead what light I may have snagged and attempted to bring to all the other fucked up victims of this unintentional universe.

I love you forever. I promise

PS

Two bright crows dart west

a mere couple dozen inches

above my spring-addled

head as a sullen hoodyman

shuffles by, allowing his

classically lithe greyhound

puppy a bit under three

minutes to pee before

shepherding him (balls still

intact) back inside, the dog

seemingly sullen now, too,

sniffs my boot, the sun

beaming askance between

feathers of breezy leaves,

those crows glancing back

laughingly, and here's me -

asea, sullen in my own way,

lookeylooking for words

There was a horseshoe above your door,

And I now - it having fallen -

Have

A dead headache as if

Some demon crucifix

Over my bed

Blessed me

I never meant to be

so shaken by - let alone

shackled to some moon

like you

I took my time, at least

tried circling it slowly

clocked it as belonging

“mine” I called it - drug.

My heart breaks like waves

- tidal, daily, like hourly

wanting for months,

crossing the sea of

this body, asking

forgiveness for all of me -

Begging the lord to forsake

both me and our kind, so

we may be forgotten and

left behind, hopefully

you won’t mind.

I took this upon myself,

a crime of rhyme, that is

to say, good luck, Goodbye,

good riddance, go ‘way.

I molt - milking the moment

of geometry, “let go and be”

This Geronimo of me

I wish

I had been

Real, and you

Had wanted me

To

O

Her apocalypse sat

heaving—its grief obese with adoration,

wine-dark lips, untied bow—the gift,

empty words, consolation for a loss unspoken,

palpably unforgotten

Verbs like love

The early worm

Got the bird burnt

Bits of it flashed

Between my legs

Early, the worm

Middle fingered, turnt

Flashed its bits

Evil winch between

My legs drew you inside as

I corresponded to a need

My first love was

Strange—ate itself

Off a mirror, snorted

Once then ran away

This is not taking flight, but touching down, how a monarch or a crane lands after seemingly endless migration, and how the light from a guide star touches the lens of a nomad’s eye

Make Me

Your way of wanting

Out of me comes,

A stated unfairness

Trilling and liquid

My seduction, unkempt, always so longing,

Like the way goodbying

Goes with our desire

To spite every wish

Plosive and spittle-lipped

Our pocket-origami-ed invitations

Always says hello backwards

Birds, bulls eyes reckoning,

angles insights definitions

An eyelash wish stuck to a kissed-air weathervane finger, numb with bows, strings tied tight to remember things

candle poked pinky-like into cream frosting, birth’s first wail noting, “be right, touch true, blow through”

My word

Is good

And yet

How can

Denied or

Mistrusted truth

Be other

Than uneasy

And therefore

Definitely not

Indecision defines ways in which we lack: unadulterated puffs off meaningless sigils, as in- breathe in now please and exhale into my breath, it is yours—

smokescreen

So too, shall inner thigh touch outside hip, my unusual height plus your shallow heart in the center, can we have fun with this given there will be no knowing me, promise? Promise?—

limerence

It might be an opportunity to recognize the gift of our different isms right? No seeing me for real, okay? I said, hiding behind dunes of husky dust. Exception does not exist, but my say so does—

boundary

Comfort arrives yet, this road of your body has all the crossroads galore and then some more; how can one rainy, libidinously fraught path lead home when all of them err so equally in covalent erogenous whims, splitting like lightning—

sensation

Why would any single voice question this universal aria warming up with me me me me—

identification?

Was it wrong, my wish never sent or spoken, to be dreamless and linear existing cursively, looping forward from minute one to last second?—

poesy

(I mean) nerves end, yes, but do the fingers’ grey matters think “dead to rights” upon a graze or caress, or must a left turn at each tiny moan twisted up in your vocal pointing bring us to the middle of this verdant field we let founder for fecundity’s sake?—

rotation

Can temples twitch at cleaving licks without problems’ antennae calling phrases to phase our unified howl, mouthing sweet sorrow, a troubling melancholy gathering in furrows and hidden in folds?—

suspicion

Tanned, hickory-switched, skinned palms, hands fall behind rouged with houses rough as gestures and foliage built at our backs while we lock eyes in misdirection’s ecstatic suspension, disbelief crops up as knowledge, past lies grow knee-high, weed beds with paving stones peeking between shoots—

manipulation

Arched, sharp shoulder blades jump, skyward, we reach through calendar years, life’s chords strummed mattering every which a way, boom-chang and fingerpick clustering idly into the helix of hazel irises some days brown, others gold always stunning, flashing lashes tickling cheek and jowl, nose nestling clavicle, ringing cochlea telling a long winding love story—

marriage

Cleaned up, a conscience might light with matches and concert flames, a windy evening that just might be perturbedly purple enough to push a struggling smile to drive hours at tomorrow’s next show, the curtain call of dawn leading you on—

performance

A little lazy fuse blinking in the double arrows, informing the junction between me and my love for you, and you, that this is that lost highway intersection, unnumbered, never mapped, exit exalted, cited widely, stance reflecting approach, any wayward forward traveler headed through to no return could ultimately try but fail each time to avoid—

coming

Laws of motion, state, & nation began to track, our troubled, naked backs pressing into one another, our faces were pointed toward different elsewheres, the time was the same in both places—

parting

Reclining we briefly dreamed grief—

rest

Awakened we pledged unending honesty—

“I fall no matter what, I fall further down yet, spin me, speak in the whorls of my whore’s ear of how to stay in your grace and be held within or without your world of rising fear.”

A bright pall—pale spilt milk spreading across plaster,

and this lonely cortex lights up all carousel-esque,

slides from a fairground projecting back on one cornea, to a retina’s obscure camera, blinking obliquely,

darkness between each lumen-fueled dream, projecting a scene.

One shot shows your face open wide with awe and glee from some wild ride we were on together, previously obviously

my own terrified rictus can just barely be seen between flying bulbs streaking the foreground—slurred and sidereal, nostalgic, and beautiful, bottle rockets, tear streaks, light leaks

always allowed in, the scent of fresh rain—how it slinks between tall grass and invites itself in to the frame