Separation in particular, terse and uncertain
all your lovers hate you eventually for

And it comes standard—your panoply
of wounds your dank whiteness against
a trailing off into untried snow

Let me show you something interesting
at least as interesting as that game show

I’m the one in the tube, crisp bills swirling

Every time you turn around, out of the corner of your eye,
you’re falling through stained glass, strained by it, pressured
by bed under your thighs, by listening through salty night
while the sun our only hope slides down the flu-shot sky,
under the weather—I suspect you have getting under something
else in mind, though as always you’re mum on that, and almost
outta pills—And that’s it: keep jutting from uncontrollable
chairs by day, and by night protruding from lanky hair
like an ur-text so soaked in tremolo I enter every room

on my knees, in particular, listlessly saltine

Hey, I’m talkin’ to you—we could slip right over
if we aren’t careful, go somewhere mostly
eyes and jilted hair and pistons purring hungrily

You’ve got too much control for that, right
when those blue moons moan animal delicacies