Untitled Insomniac Meandering

Published March 12, 2012 by April Fox

we are here and it could be that
life has slowed
or even stopped for a minute or seven or
a million; you know how we are
about time.
last night we laughed, arguing about whether or not
it was possible
to lose a measure of time
circled thoughts like children on tricycles
in half-safe parking lots of low-rent
apartment complexes, steady and shaky
both coming from the same place
taking opposite lanes and intersecting
paths and words and pretending
to make sense.
today, in a cemetery:
will we be buried next to each other?
yes
[or something else; and that’s for us to know, not you]
and how could we think anything but that?
sun and there was grass beneath our feet-
yesterday, on top of everything, the planet
angled sharp below us
above us sky and wires growling softly
warning us to go
and in a moment i will curl myself up
small inside the deadhead t-shirt
stolen from your pile on the shelf
and i might wonder, briefly, once again
if hyphens are a compromise, a concession to the patriarchal-
maybe not
maybe i’ll just sleep
and let things be.

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