"Everyone is Sleeping" and "We Fuck"

Everyone is Sleeping

I’ve been collecting multiplicities, chucking light into myself to see what catches fire, segmenting reality, revealing its film to picture pressure, days fractioned, rationed into hours, binomial existences; gravity growling, stasis shivering, blue bludgeon breaking schism between us, our bodies ablaze with blood against summer sun like your back against the window, the room braying and the silence—afterward—bradycardia of our veins cooling, sending our pretty little heads into overdrive, pools of it pressed against our temples. Summoning daybreak on a whim, the sun magnetized to my hand, lowering into your body like the wind uprooting trees. Yes, trees are magical—more so than you or I taken separately—but look at us beneath them and deny me a dream. Sometimes the memory is so fucking perfect I am glued to it like eyes to a TV; sometimes the memory is so close it feels like it’s yet to happen.

The ocean over our open wounds, alleviating distance; the night covering our tracks as if we were foxes hunting in the snow; the highway glittering around me.

In the reality in which you’re still alive, everyone is sleeping.

We fuck

In one dream we fuck

up our lives a little less,

we promise only what we keep,

we are shameless,

kissing in the park,

we undress

and your dad hears us over the TV,

we fill the ocean

like a bath,

we let it drain,

we iron memory

into epithelium,

which is to say

we fuck.