Monday, August 26, 2019

mmcmvii

Sometimes we were almost like lovers
                               —Jack Spicer

Fast, furious,
never having
met. Just dat
ed, night after
night (your
days). These
days the TNT
explodes,
coming out
of the web’s
holes like
smoke ris-
ing from
ears. Y
our ears,
too sweet
to smoke.
There’s
no soul
anyway,

as you
like to
say. Or
is that
all in
my head?
We con
quered
each o
ther, ch
ained our
selves to
gether th
rough that
hole in the
center of
the earth.
They dug
all the way
through it,
you know.
I didn’t
believe it
either, how
magma
cures all
ills. In
fact, I
think,
as I
chase
the ch
ain, my
attempt
to find
our end
of this
world,
until I
can s
ee my
toes
melt,
I did
not be
lieve in
anything
but you.

There's no soul anyway