by Fargo Tbakhi
borrowing a line from Walt Whitman
because there’s always one week where there is a nightmare.
because the boundaries of a city are the friendships we made
along the way.
because i don’t like my thighs. you do.
because the vending machine gave me an extra missile.
because someone kisses my cheek at night and i know they’ll be there
because dinosaurs had lovers too, before the asteroid settled in.
and what are you a doctor of, archeology or physics?
the trauma, or the blunt force?
because god gave me hands to squeeze, fingers to mouth.
because my twitter timeline holds a secret only i can find.
shhh- don’t tell.
because on maps, the distance has a way of seeming surmountable-
the topology of loss doesn’t want to be a line.
because i’m singing, all at once and right on key.
because the temple, the grandeur, the slicing of the tendon.
because the tree turned upside down,
the roots turned branches, all the leaves crammed under dirt,
i’m writing trees because i’m sick of trying to make corpses
i guess i’ll just song of myself again: I wish I could translate
the hints about the dead young men and women.
because maybe this time i will find only the one corpse beside me
at dawn. his lips latched onto my cheek.
dinosaurs, the both of us, waiting for the end of everything.
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