Kepler

My eaves will always hold more memories
of metastasis than you. Smooth running hair,
I don’t want it anymore.
I want to dig out this shrapnel with a comb,
black holes spun beneath a scalp in sugar.
The scant broth of prairies and salt, screen door
vomit wiped clear. Cell phones shouldn’t return
calls after they’ve died.

I watched her reconstruction eat shark
at The Clocktower. Centrifugal forces shifted
under a glass cutter, swaying my hand.
Ink unraveled her satins to my throat.
What time is it there? Here?
I painted an ether egg in a bowl,
hid it in a hedge; spinning faster now.
Swept Monte Carlo soot to Stereogate.
Barely-muscle built chimneys for the plaid
center of a galaxy, six beers, eight on a
prepaid card. Where are you going, who is that?
Build chimneys for black moles. I’ll move east.
Measure redshift with a simple Polaroid.

Husk habitual, two-dimensional lighter flame froze
where the habitable zone should be.
Kepler caught you crossing your sun,
Queen Anne hill, Capitol Hill.
Seneca said your blood tasted like blood
but melted as glass down the street.
All of time in painted traffic,
chaffed rubber grains,
pixellated exhaust chesnuts cracked open.
The chain link rattles
where skin cannot be grafted.
My cheek pressed cold sweat more
than low-sewn cardiacs ever knew.
More than the back of a hand ever could.

Cumulus drying, quarter machine brownout.
Cracked white heart.
Maiden name, gastric on its side, jaw slightly open.
Pursed coin lips, tongue strung out and sweating
on its own for a downspout spider to climb.
Kepler caught you blinking, choking on your hair in sleep.
Red barn: empty. Blown glass cracked and stained glass
thinned. Your holes spin faster, The Westridges now one
atom thick where your sister sat on the rocks.

Rattle the doorknob and pick shingles
from ornamental cherries, popped automatic
under white sheets or braille sheets,
black sheets or no sheets.
On a couch or no couch.
Coffin candy or brier jeans.
A habitable planet absorbed by its red giant
or a head dropped in one shot at 300 yards.
I don’t want to remember anymore.
I saw your dashboard explode, the airbag deployed.
I don’t want to file claims anymore.
I don’t want to forge copper nails
for killing our tree anymore,
nor its radiator, nor its steam.

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