sinking full moons.

hook.

evolution reconstructed the words in between
beginnings until mermaids existed
in pieces of jupiter and pluto,
playing astronaut or god.
(they like to pretend they’re
shipwrecked nations out in
space.

they like to pretend
they have your heart or
something equally gilded and worthless.)
they needed something more than folding
faceless sons and daughters out of origami
flowers but you were

busy wondering about
the mechanics of things like fifth degree burns and
gravity and the way electromagnets must
have reversed the inner workings of their
hearts.

line.

the planets are waiting for the right
moment to collide, hiding behind folds
of the universe and the lines that god or somebody
sketched into your palms. (but you
erased them, didn’t you?)

tell me something special about yourself,
something not even the angels know. tell me something
fragile enough to break from the beating of butterfly wings
or in the silence of shadows. i’ll find synonyms
for transcontinental lightning to wrap
your secrets safe in closets like
empty minds.

you are a boat stuck out at
sea, left to the mercy of salty
currents and cedar-stained hypocrisy.
the wind breaks over memories
weighing me down and i am distracted
by the thought of youplusme.

sinker.

you are the cancer fleshing out my
lungs and i have grown tired of the needles
they've filled me with and can i have my oxygen
back, please? i refuse to be your
exhibit a or your five-legged phantom

lover, meant only for shadowed
rooms. i wish you would let me be
your somethingmore, at least within the
boundaries of cursory excuses and lonely
decorated rumours. we can search
for reasons to be arsonists or
a succession of hands holding hands
holding hearts.

you could set off planets
like bombs inside my heart or maybe
help me smile again, although i'm not sure
which would be less painful. i fell for
the bruises on your knees that said you'd

catch me every time.

(but how do you catch shooting stars or
rainbows when you can't even hold onto
yourself?)