bespoken
your tipsy bicycle gasping
just at the edge
of the curb leaning
pressing backward into
the front of the wind
before the past named you,
an interview:
spilt across crispy tiles
thorny leaves of darkened letters
licking the iron grid along floor length windows
in an apocalyptic moment
a diving bird resurfaces limp and shivering
a cashew curled jutting
along its vertebral ridge
the first of the dead ones
we awaken at dusk in another place
passports dripping sweat and sea water
our bodies shameful cabinets
barking organs
like hearts called mutts
like drooling claws trespassing
in the mire birthed by lonely guns
where the snow rests frozen in my palms
