jack

I was praying to the yellow fire sky
That I would find you
A famished burn
Searching

You reopened the directors cut
Watch
Here on my wrist is a tattooed constellation of betrayals
or free releases
Depending on what you can afford
to treat the wound

You’ve seen the world but haven’t caught a glimpse of yourself.

I’m never done throwing up peace signs in a glass house
I passed this threshold once before
I passed this
philsophers kidney stone and haven’t been this pissed off since

I get it - I get under your skin
Your webbed skeleton, encased white phosphorus
Skin of foiled scattered plots written in a patchwork of lobes and birthmarks
Skin I haven’t touched
Since

I beat myself up over you but
The bruise wane(s)
That same flame creating tanned lines of poetics
But your canon is a cannon
An odd shaking
Even the sky of iron shivers
Like faltering caulk idols

You took me in
Like a sorceress who punctured the sun
And changed everything