I’m sawblades
working against
each other, one
misbegotten attempt
after the next,
jump-starts and
broken knees, YSL
at the de Young, a
fine coat of rain;
amnesia. I’ve
lived this moment
for months,
splitting the days
wicked smitten
with smudged ink,
staggering proof
of sexual encounters
I don’t even
remember –
the sawblades, the
rain, the Xanax,
the homosexual
subtext (fantastical
and realistical),
and wouldn’t you
know it’s a glorious
day, come together
like magic, blowing
me from one glorious
page to the next.
