IT'S COOL WE CAN STILL BE FRIENDS

i feel like i have lost you for a thousand lives
as if the time spent curled up or keeping
busy in wait of a phone call, this has happened
before and again and until. that your hands
are only a part of it, but your eyes tell
the same and your embrace a mutual
transcendence, to reach
moksha.

to begin the cycle again
to let me love you for the first  

we remember the beginning of the battle
the siege of the capital, the bulwark, the bunker
never the coffins coming home.

 

a misfired gun, a gaping wound
a sewing needle: action moves
through the skin and out the other side
creating an unnatural pore, to see
through.

here we are now, only our blood
and a fire-heated iron to sear the skin
shut, to solder two wires together
to eliminate a crease.  

the space between barbed
wire and the fence.  

i have been sitting on sunsets, standing on
the edge of night banking my good thoughts
in lieu of creating new ones those moments
where my breath is short & your hands
are trenches, your body is hidden in someone
else’s hands.

i am now wearing camouflage, camped in the woods
of my desire, spearing small animals
and roasting them with the fire i have held
inside of my body.

i have made my home here out of small stones, i
turn the tv on and lay on the couch expecting
to want to be laying down in my cover, my trench, i check
my mail, the computer, the mail, the window.

maybe you have surprised me.
maybe it is over. 

but the sidewalk is empty and there is only ever fire
and i cannot hear you over the rounds, round, round again.