Something Bright, Then Holes

How did it come
to this, and does it matter? We aim
to be gentle, but end up cruel

It was there
that I said a prayer
to the brown and blue notebooks
of your arms.

We share a brightness
It’s called death
in life

As it is
there ought to be a law
against this loneliness,
the kind you brought
without meaning it.

Alone at last
with this damp pain
with which I came
into being
Who knows what I am
beyond it, beyond
its unease

Solitude is a gift
Say it to yourself
under a canopy
of phony stars

I just want to be called out as the greedy whore that I am

sometimes
I think it would be so hot to fuck you with another
and other times I know I’m just making the best
of a bad situation.

but you have to march across the span
while you can, before winter’s sweet cocoon
gets punctured and happiness presents itself
as an option, and I have to accept the possibility
of another body in my bed.

I keep wanting
to pick up every hard and bright object I find
and put it in a Mason jar, then add blue pigment
and shake.