was merciful. So much for that feeling we had that time before you forgot again and I
still don't believe you.
Unfortunately, when I spent the night, you
spent my patience, my good will, the rest of my heart on the ponies, on less
-er valued horseflesh. I am that gin-tooth gambler, that
nauseating page that is still unclear at daybreak
(nauseating daybreak, nauseating ambient droning sounds coming from the stereo next door...
the radio wires and the clotting bowl of milk)
I prefer ginger ale, anyway.  take a seat, have a sip, turn the dial
then that feeling--purity, sparkle, a blade of heat, the crack of carbon to mouth not unlike
eating baby back ribs with your dad
or watching the sky before the storm roll out like gift wrap, reading the rain on our palms
which doesn't say anything cute or profound
except "It would be interesting if you held me up against a wall."
Or against a car. It would be interesting if you held me
up to the liminal star that is within this robotic grace.
So much for the garden. So much for the roof.
The tin so loud in the hail, so quiet when it burned our eyes.