(no subject)
loaded questions leave me catching silver bullets in my teeth, slipping postcards to alice in the space between the mirror & the frame. they say she doesn't live here anymore but i know she's just keeping radio silence, keeping a profile low as her chances. she's keeping her teeth clean & her wrists covered, she's placing bets on the next lunar eclipse & keeping the votive candles lit like a lighthouse for our ship. she knows, she knows we're coming home.
listen you can hear my nerves ending. i keep my fingers locked in your belt loops listen, these lenses thick with vaseline like valium to take our edges off, soft focus for the slow motion of this ship barely daring to seek a safe harbor. so sea-flung & knife-clean the ocean takes its toll but who will collect it, the price of admission admitting our sins, who will collect it with arms outstretched, with a siren song to lure us in. oh now & at the hour of our death, darling, she knows we're coming home. searching out the moonlit limits of ourselves here where the night folds blueblack into the sea, where the moon is doubled against the dream of itself, listen. the waves breaking our devotions into seaglass swept onto a foreign shore. the day breaking, & alice waiting, the water rising,