The Vacuous Hole Statement

To K.—for calling me that name.

 

I.

 

The girl

crammed herself

into a shadow

of broken things

and waited…

her water levels rising,

so subtly…

 

The fiction

is sweet on her tongue

where I left

sheets of lust all

fickle in

wheezes…at knee’s length.

 

II.

 

K.,

morning has come,

and the envies are up

in tandem.

They pounce around

like savages

(and waste not for

want not) and

stagger to the

slaughter.

 

I come, too, when I can, and stagger along with you.

 

III.

 

We are

the essence of a staged rehearsal:

where the bells are all expanded like

great echoing wastelands in the back

of a car; we can save them if we use them:

all of our hours, stacked upon each other

like miles to slaughter.

 

The forgetful

and the foreign: the muster

of the lawless and the craven—we have become.

I can’t pretend such nuance like the rest of them,

but what I promise, should happen instead, better

if read; up at dawn, so coiled we have become—

our worst nightmares.

 

IV.

 

My wound spreads

away from my heart

in a red

apron upon my breast.

 

Rage: not

what I wanted,

but we trade

our blows

of disgust, anyhow,

and

fall with the grace

it takes

to wage it.

 

So wasted this

land in the back

of your car. The

hands go rubbing

upwards and seize

a skinned-throat—

 

for disappointment is best served warm, if at all.

 

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