"Dynamite December Legs"

you preen yourself by the fire
while i grow december legs.
when i come back, cross your threshold
tomorrow, i may roll an ankle.

look at you, clean-shaven,
legitimizing my broken teeth.
i expect to turn a corner
& find you singing on the street,

anticipating me. the story we agreed on
might not have life’s ending. we lie to
everyone about where they can find us.
each blue step the night takes behind us
is a breadcrumb for the loves we have hurt
to be together.

o instrument, shake
the sounds from my throat
into something beautiful.




i am unmarriageable. i made you an animal,
then a different animal. i blew my own ears
apart. i thought that if you gave the young
men gray hair, but kept them otherwise

young, then you could boast about it
at sunset on your wedding day.
this is sunset on your wedding day.

i shake love into the dirt. it roves
across the field of your eye.
my goodbye burns your neck
as you leave & i inherit the scattered
earth. i am learning to effect people
into themselves. not affect. there
is a lesson you missed somewhere.



we were 18-yr-old boys together.
sad & trying to make something
with our sad hands.

we looked into each other’s eyes
and saw different eyes there.

we were no joke.

protected under the wing
of liberal arts,

no idea this was our last chance
to be ourselves without consequences,

i taught you where to put your hands.
was surprised you didn’t know.


death is the equalizer but
we ignore him because
he starts pitching
from such a long way off



shaking in the dirt,
i taught you where
to put your love.
was surprised you didn’t
know where.

horizons bore the weight
of sunset weddings.

red origami flashed
from wallet to wallet
like a promise.

we were 18-yr-old boys together.

each breadcrumb changed
the animal i made you.



you preen yourself by the fire
and grow december legs.

i teach your hands my broken
teeth. we are protected by goodbye.

i am more hopeless in light
than in dark—unmarriageable,
but a willing sunset.
i let you lay sticks of dynamite
all along my birth canal.


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poetryBarzakh Mag