Bright Dead Things

Say we never get to see it: bright
future, stuck like a bum star, never
coming close, never dazzling.

we’re small and
flawed, but I want to be
who I am, going where
I’m going, all over again.

I want to be something entirely without words.

Oh let us be
a bird flying wholly for the sake
of flying

What if I stop remembering? What if here’s where I want to keep it? Here’s my permanent puncture, here’s my unstoppable ink

I love the keeping of it, the wanting to keep it, but maybe not on my body

Just countable days ago

it looks like a sad animal with his head hangdog low

And I like the way it sounds. But the shape of Nebraska is still the same despite the translation

A picture of an orange without the tree,
A picture of a shadow without a boy