Keep me loosely
threaded
across your pillowcase;
but when washed
we are no longer
peculiar;
across the cracked and fretted
windowsill
the stars squeak sporadically like
field mice
under the moon, without count of
days;
it’s been a month,
the cast around the arm of the
universe
above us
pops golden with flipping silverfish-
scales,
as heat is breaking the metal beams
holding bodies balding in their
rotation;
my skin peeling even without our
sun;
the dust thick and fawning; snow is
freezing
and people are falling; light hits our
head
and, lightly, our vision shivers, we
move like pulp;
against the glass wall we cling like
hair
across your pillowcase—
when the water unfolds
all the stitching comes undone.
I am outside tonight
enjoying the brief sunlight,
and water-stains in mind
pool together to form you bright,
you lifting me, a corpus of rocks
warm in themselves under the
stream, forgotten,
smoothing all alone, the tree's
needles have fallen:
they undulate like beautiful ice-
cubes
in my bed.
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