How to abide the high-school
graphite sky?
To not think of death
in autumn—ogle the puck
of frozen pesto, the withered
cornhusk plait in the crisper,
the kite strings tangled
in the fins of an electric fan;
give up. The
names of death
outnumber the names of desire;
yours is among them, a special
disease to be dead of, a hardening
of the mouth followed by fever-dreams
& then the body wrapping around
itself like a knot tying a chopstick
to a dagger.
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