it seems too many things are made
and anything can be touched
can be altered
when i held a locust in my hand
two days ago
i was careful not to k** it
now the plastic stars on my ceiling are
‘making appearances'
that's all i can think // that they're
‘making appearances'
and i feel some relation to them
margaret helped me put them up
and now my head is shaved
and that seems somehow notable
i made sun signs for my family
and moon signs for dead people
and void signs for myself
so no one else could ever read them
but kate did read one // she read it
as if she had formed it // “do you
see those stars // the ones so close
they're almost on top of each
other? those can be us
from now on // now on and forever”
i said nothing
with my left hand stuck in her jean shorts
and knew it was going to be very hard
to share anything with anybody
and equally hard to keep anything
away
so one of the other signs
designed to unmake your image
is starting to bother me
but i can't rearrange its points
or don't think i can
i don't want anything to start
gushing
i don't want a disturbance
to crawl back out of the space
created
that doesn't really exist