Two Poems
Aeons ago in a misty bed with/ a coverlet as thin as dew but warm as blood,
The Remains of Earlier Temples
a coverlet as thin as dew but warm as blood,
I knew someone, for seventy-two esoteric
hours, and with their head hanging upside down
they said I'm really happy right now. It
is unfortunate that words like these ignite
an ancient motion in me to run the fuck
away from feeling nice and then do things
like circumambulate when asked what I'm
doing for lunch. More dismal than Babylon
now is how I added them on Instagram and
we posted sunset pictures on the same
magical night and dm'ed each other
Where are you? Wasn't it amazing? Since
then I've stayed up crafting plans for a long-
term durational work, a temple made up
of all my life's worn-out shoes, and hidden
deep in the queen's chamber, passed the hall
of trick arrows, written in sand on a granite slab
it reads, I should have loved them well.
Anthesis in Two Places
There are arrows forwards and arrows backwards
and some place you have to write from.
The literature and the subway posters
seemed to be whispering to me Right now
is the time of the great abyss. Surely
there is bound to be a wrought-iron arch
and after passing under, the weather opens.
I thought there would be a clear revolution
is how I explained my absence to the seasons.
Something like your body turning into
a pink sports car that looks like a clitoris
and your girlfriend (your darkness) getting in-
side you and riding you towards the new
world. Are you two or are you one?
Be a metaphor but also don't be
a metaphor. Observe the calyx
protecting the bloom. Present, future, and past.
