250.

In a dream, she sees me across the street
but when she steps off the sidewalk she falls through the earth.
I don’t mean to be this far away from everyone.
It is the first time they have blamed me for your leaving.

249.

I would sell every ghost I have to buy something solid.

248.

He looks at me with hearts in his eyes, and I worry that he’ll blink and bleed all over the floor. He is my favorite lover. We have been charting this for a long time. It has stopped being a demolition. The body is a comfort, the body has stopped believing in the boundaries of skin.

247.

Yesterday I was a burning building.
Today I am a cup of water.
What does it matter
that you remember the day we met?

246. Blood Moon

My body wakes me
at the time of the eclipse.
Your shadow is connected at my heels,
some days more than others
of course, and those are the ones
where you darken the room.

The freckles on your back
sure do look nice in the morning.
It doesn't matter,
I have bruises as deep as lakes.

How much of this will you hang

from the ceiling today?

You pull up our shirts
and press our bellies together
because you hope that this time
we won't stay in separate bodies.
Vodka means you're losing it,
beer means you're trying to behave.

When saying that you're happy
means it's time to go.
To be both the brave and the weak one.
That, you will not understand.

245.

Seeing you changes everything.

244. My heart is the golden tip of an arrow.

It is difficult to harness anger. To survive,
I am told that I am to whistle for it
whenever the harsher weather settles in
as if it were a wild dog that owes me
its command. Anger, they say,
will burn up the rest of it.
I'm supposed to call people cruel when I mean it
and I'm supposed to take back my power
while not accidentally picking up any of the weight.
I'm not grounded. I went over the goddamn moon
and it's cold out here. Too quiet.
Speckles of light are nice to look at
but my arms aren't light years long.
Space is much larger when you're actually out here.
I was wrong, you aren't getting smaller and smaller
the further I get from the earth.
I need a cup of coffee. I need to learn another language.
Need need need. I need to run out of room,
but not like this, not in the way
that keeps everyone else from getting through.
And so my name sends you to splinters.
We leave and circle over and over,
our footprints scarred into the floorboards.
Patience has turned into something disgusting.
When I see you. I will not know what to do.