The Com­mon Era



he says are you lonely as if he hasn’t tasted the salt bloom­ing in the wa­ter af­ter the light­ning dis­cov­ers us, as if he hasn’t dug him­self deep in the mud path to my lips stow­ing his moon-dreams among the ships stand­ing lantern guard in the late fa­mil­iar fog of our be­com­ing.

in an en­ve­lope he builds his heart full and sur­ren­ders it to the mail slot, knows it is free­ing to fly over the val­ley of a hand to the moun­tain of an eye, glid­ing giddy across the eye­lash cho­rus sky, burn­ing along the sun haze of a cheek un­til he finds a cave mouth to carry his con­fes­sions to shore.

are you lonely like an­tic­i­pat­ing the blow is lonely, like swal­low­ing the crow at your door is lonely, what i mean is are you lonely like i am lonely, like the fish in the love grip of a griz­zly is lonely, like the dizzy of dust in the dead night city is lonely, and he al­ready knows that i am so he asks me again.

Newspapers in English

Newspapers from Canada

© PressReader. All rights reserved.