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the long sentence of your life
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Bad poetry as the color rose hemorraghed across the new sky like liquid from a shattered glowstick… held up by both us the imagined columns of still white-light from us two blushing brides
odd-angled, soaked sponges in tequila us two sea urchins who had crawled from the bar into the cool dirt footprints of other people our thousand spines still as much inward pointing as they were
outward pointing our souls mixed together as crushed ice at the thought of “and what was it about?” …Her slime tentacle over mine in the morning red and yellow us two tangled antennae drifting also with the book of Hamlet between us and the poems that others had written there also
in the dirt, making small helium bubbles of us two solemn stones
trying still to rise.
