#caffienism

you and me’s like

that one documentary with a dozen sea turtles that just hatched crawling their way to the sea

and it’s already clear not a single one—no not even the one you were rooting for,

the underdog, runt of the litter—

is going to make it.

like knocking your glass over at the bar, (everyone groans) ,

like every door that closed forever from one imperceptible gesture,

about your door you said "do not ring, it does not function.: i said "i'd never met a button i didn't want to push."

i said "i think i got turned around at sherbrooke." you said "silly girl."

i said "it makes me nervous when people disappear" you said "i did not disappear, i am right where you left me"

and i realize you're right. am i a rabbit running rampant for greener pastures?

but oh there is still life inside of me it kicks like a child it screams in protest it spurts like the orange i observed (on the 747, strange 4:00AM ritual) when the man tries his best to tear through the peel

I watch him from across the bus-he's unsuccessful for three whole stops.

regard me like a sun

i blister, i burn

radiating poison in a

thousand twisting tendrils

now hold out your hands,

to feel everything i give you

here

and here

and here

disease interloping

sacral nerve illness clusters

settling cancers

here

and here

in the morning

out my kitchen window

one pigeon sits and regards me sidelong

as i fill an empty pint glass up with water

somewhere here

there’s an understanding

between the bird and me

and

on the street below

someone is screaming

someone is fighting to be heard

barely audible over endless siren cacophonies

and

every night ends the same

shotgun curb strike soldier sprays

flecks of blood on the pavement

eroding myself from myself,

sacrificial handover

and

all i can think is:

when i die please don’t bury me

a seed planted in darkness

yes, this is life.

he holds you by the throat and you arch your back, silent, bent like when you came into this world and you count the seconds until it ends.

there is a violence in passion, lights off, no love here.

he does not look you in the eyes.

he holds you by the throat like the fisherman used to do with trout in the mountains, and you don’t stop him, because isn’t being alone worse than whatever this is?

look, there you are, on the rooftop.

i barricade myself within myself, eyes open to ward off imminent attackers at night in the form of dreams.

it’s always the same. you and me on the beach and you always leave, leaving me staring at your footprints in the sand.

in the present day, you make this mark on my hand, one letter, to signify your name.

(there’s something starched about it, pressed in the sun, like my mother used to do to my shirts when she’d hang them in the backyard to dry.)

in germany they say

“du fehlst mir”

which means “you are missing from me”

and it’s true

you are missing from me

it’s like a a lung cut out from my body

rib broken from the cage

i can’t breathe

you are missing from me

what do i do?

i swallow my heart back down into my stomach

the parties keep going

the bars stay open

the vase shatters, one million puzzle pieces,

everything ends.

you looked at me once the way someone looks at the horizon, eyes narrowed, hand up to shield from the sun.

you don’t look at me at all anymore.

well, i could never picture it, you seeing my photo on the wall and thinking:

“yes”.