(no subject)
the rough borders of our lives go hungry,
grumble apart.
what friends will hold us
when our hands shake like hummingbirds,
when our faces are boned out, salt-stained?
a truck cracks into
the body of my car
but does not kill you.
I return to the mountains
and they are strange shaped,
wide & mouthy,
but it is like returning
to a dream of the thing
and never the thing
(the memory) itself.
All my memories are bathed in ambrosia and nicotine.
Can't see through the wine dark,
the pink stiff flesh of them.
grumble apart.
what friends will hold us
when our hands shake like hummingbirds,
when our faces are boned out, salt-stained?
a truck cracks into
the body of my car
but does not kill you.
I return to the mountains
and they are strange shaped,
wide & mouthy,
but it is like returning
to a dream of the thing
and never the thing
(the memory) itself.
All my memories are bathed in ambrosia and nicotine.
Can't see through the wine dark,
the pink stiff flesh of them.