Hangs Upon Your Shoulders
I met you as the body of a horse
where’s your clipboard
trains sifting towards town
swimming in marble plankton
a lost float of warehouse bass hum
eraserhead of de kooning
dishwashing sets of tables line the exit
drugs in early afternoon
how soft and complacent the cat is in your arms
on her back living a double life
her lip quivering, her chin, the apples of her cheeks
what was impressed upon you during your youth
it’s so hard to look away
everything is so brutally ephemeral
calling famous actors by their incorrect name
freeing your wide smile
I’ve decided to follow this
determined to follow the buzzing
I don’t think it’s going to work.
I think it’s going to work.
I don’t think it’s ever going to work out for me
but all the places we’ll wake up.