_____
_____
_____
I spell out purposeful
nonsense in the air around me,
like a tourniquet fashioned out
of the mechanics of bedtime,
______
bleating the outdoor shrill
in my shilling state. Before he
was sucked, I spied up the boy’s
trouser-leg only to find the scowl
of a hump-retching paranoia.
______
It’s sexy like penicillin, and I reach
my hand to the spot where I can
turn it into a smile, like lovers
done at night. He rides my fingers
in a pinball waltz gone mad. This takes
time like time wasn’t even the issue.
______
And we lay stretched out. I tell him
that we are practicing nostalgia like
a virus. He doesn’t trust me and I
wouldn’t either: the past is already
dead, and we sit there clutching our
coach seats like we weren’t going
down with it all anyway.
