I linger on this earth like the photos we keep of our dead.
My body is ephemera. My body is a clothesline. Enough about my body.
If I tell you I’m afraid of the dark, what I mean to say is I’m afraid
of myself. My mind is what my mind fears most.
If I’m naked and I’m holding her close to me, she will be dreaming
that she’s being choked. If she talks in her sleep it will only be to gasp.
If my forearm is submerged, the ink darkens with water. If my skin
is a history book, we lost the war. If my hair changes color in light
and loses it in darkness…there are so many things I must tell you.
There is a cave illuminated by a burning flag. There is a man
walking blindly with his arms outstretched before him. There is nothing
because everything is always changing forms, morphing in its sick twist,
and one of us will not survive this. Jesus, I hope it’s me. But I know it’s us all.
And if the sun rises tomorrow, rise with it. Rise, rise, and never fall.