The thing is wide & white
But bearing a ring of amber
Which carries across memory
_like a whisper-washed hair or
Blade, but I think back on her question
And yes, I am killing myself adoringly
Melting my body to the mat
For this knuckle of pint. When I think
Of her the follies rise,
Precepts enjamb in pain, a sweet round
Aftertaste stalking the long dark nap.
Don’t change a word. You
Are wise & wind torn & yr ears are tuned
Frequencies — the grass whimpers above each follicle
Lip quivering by truth-run conceit. We have
Suffered, but in my ocean, beside your ocean, …
I think: “Bare it,” I say.
you locked the door behind, you what else
could i do? you were young, i wanted more.
in his suicide note K dreamed about
Freddie — admired, envied — never locked
their door. silent, wind and highway light crawling
sharp, i remember you mad against
the white brick wall posed as imperfection.
i had the locksmith come as a favor
he couldn’t have known, what else could he do?
i thanked him with cash, the actor performed.