Apr
13
Microphone
And you stepped on the glowbox
and the songslab sang
and you stepped on the glowbox
again. You’re as drunk
as the room is wide. You’re
as drunk as the room you’re in.
The moon falls down on mute.
The pines can’t move. You let
the glacier move down your back
like a hanging, then you drink
its hurt tongue. You can’t count.
You can’t count. Slow, aching birds
do it for you. Petrified desks
in cemetery bathrooms
gauzed with screen doors
making dawn’s cool noises
but you can’t count it. The valley
eats. The whole landscape’s lip
has quivered. You and me aren’t
any more than just saying things
backwards. Take off your sentence
and let the bad thing down.
