For Fannin.
.
and no, I still don’t understand what you meant –
or what it means to be a man on his knees
in the middle of an empty room
while the sun comes up.
But I think I see the same shadow, sometimes –
she’s sheet thin – he looks down at his hands
& where there is no young body
there is no ash tray, no pitted mouth,
no missing piece backed up into the corner –
where the only way out is through
& so I laid down so much stone
until I became stone &
only worthy of more than a dollar’s tongue
if I’m running up the same flight of stairs.
.
I have a recurring dream –
a stopwatch starts
at the time my brother recommends
the name ‘Emily’ and stops
when I reach the door –
my open hands feel into the pale cloth
& then we both choke back the chosen bodies
of our Trojan War – too terrified
of what we might become
or not become –
10 years is a long time to forget
you were already nailed to a cross –
already founded a father –
cut into with too many holes,
none wide enough to lay in & forget that –
sometimes you can see it in his eyes –
the way the whites surface
to sunken moons –
like there’s only so many times
you can look up
without becoming a pitch-black night –
only so many times you can kiss
your own, empty palms
without becoming a hollow tunnel
where everything you say & don’t say
goes to her & burns.
.
I look up in a new city & out pours
a new, blazing way to realise
my points of entry & exit never change –
I run through the hallways
& maybe this time
I can even touch the door –
I raise my fist & start banging
& the banging falls to silence.
You’re already halved over –
clutching the white.
Unmaking the made bed
just to have a could have been –
& there I am –
even useless at being a shadow
you can crawl into on bad days –
on that day – but I was there.
Listening to you
and her
and the world hum
everywhere
apart from me.