The Waiting

I woke

I woke I woke, sticky vowels in my bed, last century’s songs whispering in my hands like abandoned hotels. Each dollar crisp with rust, how we’d prefer the avalanche on each other’s heads in the desert hospital. Look, I run very fast circles. Clockwise. Counterclockwise. Modern shoes, spaceships coated with sugar, the holiest war I’ve ever frequented on the longest day of the year. But did you remember to bring your sadness. I added raisins to the bread, yeast thick in my hair, halved pomegranate sky. The everything took the shape of a swift comb. I interpreted it myself. Much the same moon repeating itself, I forgot the rocks to beat my clothes against. But I’m not one to talk, morning light overpowering sweat. A sharp knife and/or a jagged can whips and the pain differs. Could you call up the memory on the phone. Could the snow be any louder. 22 ] ...