revisions.
it's too early for me to
be awake so i pick your
hair out of the shower drain
and let the water run hot enough
to burn my skin
until i feel warmer without
the pale color of my arms
that matches the white of
the bathroom floor
i keep dreaming that i
sit across the dinner table from
god and we talk slowly about
the size of the desert and
touch legs underneath the table
and my pride sits against my spine
in my belly full and heavy
so i lean forward to let my disks
bend and to let it crawl out between
my chapped lips
that hurt in the arizona sun
in the afternoon my father points
out state penitentiaries in every city
we pass by and i hate his precision
but secretly like the glow of
yellow from the high windows
and imagining the texture of
an inmates hand and
his voice as he cries in a very
small place like i've been
doing my
entire life
when nobody is really
ever that lonely
at nigh the wind chimes
smash together to make a sound
that reminds me of church bells
and i like how you kiss
me on the mouth
and how i swear to god
i saw your head on a city bus
yesterday
moving south
against crooked lines that
resembled your teeth,
i hadn't seen you in weeks,
and i am okay now.