Why Transcendental Youth Uses a TrumpeterHaving reached the time in my sadnessWhy Transcendental Youth Uses a Trumpeter by sense-and-stupidity
when I told the ambulance not to hurry,
I tied certain poems to my neck and
let them tug me
from way up high above this city.
It may have resembled a noose,
but I promise,
they saved me.
self-portrait of the night you give yourself awayexisting in my negative is the image of you,self-portrait of the night you give yourself away by sense-and-stupidity
standing beneath streetlamps on a damp portland road.
your scarf lifts up in the breeze
as if reaching for someone in one of these vacant homes.
i close my eyes and feel my heart
click over to a projector.
your dark silhouette flickers over my face.
your hands in your pockets,
shoulders drawn under a gray down coat.
i imagine you are staring at me
like i am a hazel angel,
my body laid with precision and artificiality
in the direct middle of the yellow.
scarlet snow and
black boots on the tarmac.
i imagine you take steps toward me.
but the image is so dark,
the heart's bulb so scratched,
you could easily be facing away.
the crunch which makes my fingers grip
the air around you
could easily be the march of retreat.
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