Accidental Texture

I’d attempt to unravel your music, culling from the moon.

Inspiration reflects, bounces or sinks. I’m going to your river.

Quite often, it forms into trigger & arrow. Lime of artlust,

Anecdote. The ripest perishing. You move like tomorrow, today.

Where do you receive your energy? Where do you send?

A curiosity develops in the throat. It flows down to the abdomen.

I’ll code mine panic or catastrophic color (burgundy) made alive.

Pink locusts in a motioning mirror. Interest makes my little life.

I like the scents of a few toxic, cheap products, even if they burn

My evolution to the bone. A few waves of foreboding, too.

Conversation doesn’t shake it. Gold & red nylon dream-hairs.

My raggedy mathematics. To struggle with an allotment of latitude.

To fix a panel click. To go wordless, quickly. I was mad at pain, its

Unique protection. I glide my fingers along the pattern of a bold scar.

I glide my eyes across miniature poems. My life will be was—

Cloudy pillars. My body is night now. When will I call my brother?

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We don’t need

To get naked,

But we should.

I want to stop writing about fire,

But I trust I will not.

On my side

Is the way

That I sleep.

Maybe we’re lonely,

Maybe it’s a competition for love.

Compassion haunts the sex conversation.

The energy burns

Away boredom, rewards hasty instinct.

I find myself curious

About valueless capacity.

I have no reliable picture of chemistries,

Meaning nothing

Except our entire world.

The sun & years are still what we named them;

Or they never were.

There’s too much life to last.

Forgive the body,

Another person

Is another person.