the market for reverie is suffering

2.
suppose i will be something
worth one person’s being-wrong for? their mad rage at
a fascist leader whose raw death we
celebrate—your stomachache before 10am—you
wearing a t-shirt and jeans, restless on the couch we were loving on constantly, distantly, excellently; loved us then
a new leaf surrendering to words
the dog wants something from you that he
cannot learn about; reasons for his being exactly where it is
suppose i will be
a whore just to entertain my soul? suppose i will
be right about this, you’ll be wrong?

1.
cataclysmic night in the backyard falling over onto it’s palms
—the child long-limbed
gets grit ‘n bits all stuck in it’s skin, mother picks at it for days,
turns you into a fool in front of your friends
apologizes after dark like it’ll do you both some good, but you feel
what you feel
tooth is loose, ready to kick off pants in hot sleep and hum ;
submit to strenuous garden of mind
the market for reverie is suffering
a lover’s meeting to journey’s end
—darling, darling, for what it’s worth; they did not know what
they meant back then.

4.
mustered up the courage to make us both breakfast, to be
the woman of our relationship
thought i’d have relinquished my enthusiasm
about the afterlife; i wasn’t scared
of perpetual awake-ness next to your form
of my next seventy-two-however-many
years devoted to you. i wasn’t scared that
it would’ve been the easiest thing in the world
i was scared of the terrible bird
perched upon my love, asking: do you care?

3.
fragile is the breath i can cup with two hands, i have
loved you once
and i shall do it again

billow of sunlight, storm of morning
we knew about nothing—it was sweet
and we knew it too, we were bare-foot
duller then, much happier, apparently
it is much easier to kiss if there is no
proof of time passing. pleasure was a clean wound; i could touch yours.