the set intention of my would-be
executioners I survived. I may
be whistling down the road but my snatched-
away future fiercely wrestled back weighs
on me evenly like water. And, lover,
yours does too—the future and its corollaries.
for me, this love you make against me?
And I against an un-resilient surface
of the dark, or against
the backdrop of the city—our minor
bungled plans against the grand one?
Will I make any sense here or
are the odds against it?
Sorry, but the cracking open of this cookie’s
got me started, reminds me of a slender
bone of poultry grasped across
a cluttered table and what happens
when two contend for one desired wish.
You see where I’m headed? Sometimes
to pull away is the same as pressing
up against one in this darkness,
like the way words
and meaning can pull away or push
against till something snaps
with a cry we don’t recognize as ours.
let us join hands and flee this jam
we’re in, these consequences
leaning this way and that, and escape
to the next perilous change for the better.
See, it’s fatal isn’t it, this will to live?
Look what happens.