sometimes we're
more tired of
effort than failure

exhaust attempts

to explain these
jumps between
associations

back to running
lapse

i followed

& you didn't

even hold
the door

trying too
late to put
all that

distance

back
between us

a fall back
into things which
will hold me

or am i just these
pieces i give away

a life of how
to sit silently

as a mind's
overwhelmed

by high-pitch
hysteria

circumnavigate
like i'll avoid
those calloused
hands

reach & i'd love to
grab but he only
ever whirlpools me

a blank page
to turn or
scribble on
& i'm never
sure which

he waits &
i am here
back-to-back
with this door

why is writing
as a form of
avoidance

always my
most productive

my life in measures
before or after
this coda of him

set at a common
table with my fate

i'll admit to
occasions
of a little

aggression

to scare him
back into
unsurety

a point driven
a pique

of my own
curiosity

a piece of poem
for every time

he's picked up
his goddamn phone

my hackles raise
he thinks me
such a certainty

this delicate
dance of
untangling

swill decisions
slow distracts
ice slides & clinks
in empty glass

a sleight of hand &
hint at smoulder
i'd brush that scruff
i'd bite that shoulder

cheeky clip of blues
traveler crosses my mind
'cause this hook brings
him back every time

covered ear shells
internal ocean

i sway on waves
of blue blood

nautilus curl
submersion
coils of energy
for surge breaks

shattered
on a shore
assured

by an island &
survivor voices

or that slap
of saltwater
on these quays

summer's naked
sprawls across a hot bed
every last cover kicked
feverish to the floor

morning & not even
all my resistant
snooze taps

can keep its alarm
from browbeating me
into submission

every day i add to
my attempted coups
against consciousness

daily a bloody ectomy
of self from this bed

tweets about never
wanting to get up
'til i have to get up
& other microcosms

desperately
disinterested
in this day

every a.m.
a hostage
negotiation
with pillows

sorry i'm late
boss i had to write
about how much i didn't
want to wake up this morning

i scavenge memory
for how to forget
where it is buried
in this mute blood

slow bob of adam's
apple along a tan neck
& his pint empties into
an experienced channel

my unexpected fingertips
accompany flinch reflex
in that broad pectoral
like a tail flick on some
wet stallion's satin flank

& if i lose it in these
all our other moments
could his glint grin
keep caged reverb-
erations of low laughs
or salt sparkles
on blurred rims forever

could i never stagger
out of all my available
skin into a moonless
morning's tenacious dark

or not need a web
of neurons translated
& suddenly sarcophagi