or not

I could drive by your house. Swollen heartbeat in my throat

Fighting urges fighting hope flipping out,

or not.

I could stare into your eyelids while we cut rugs saying to myself

By GOD or by luck that I’m not falling in love,

a lot.

I could call you buffoonery, goonie googily, wild-loud boisterous

Precocious, doubtful, and cowardly anonymous,

or not.

I might mark you my full capacity my pop to my elasticity

The cloud that helps the hot out,

the drought.

Perhaps to jump with the rope causing the hung line stark naked

In the sunshine when he kissed my cum cave and i

Couldn’t stop it or help it my clothes just fell off

or not.

I could make a decision against a decision but then I’d still be stuck really

Because he would read all about it on


Maybe if I make it up or imagine things perfect speak it right into existence

Or cry into the distance I’ve forced myself into this crying into my resistances

To plead the fifth your failed non-existent persistence,

you’re not.

Who your sweet informal promises promised me you’d be

or not.

You really haven’t promised me snot

And if you did your promises shouldn’t hold any weight to mean “sick” or “stopped up”

or not.

You were just running with no ending

Like people mistake lust for love

You’re some kind of synthetic fairytale in the bed blanketed with emotional poison

And pillows to hide under,

or not.

So when I woke up to adoring co-workers enamored with empty ornament good mornings and I should be my normal sun-skipping self hoping for one more day…

I’ll say… I looked at him

I looked for him

I looked for the little boy

—that seemed to have all the joy in him—

To match the little girl he made the joy with

but instead I got doubts, hesitancies, skepticisms, and zetetics.

“Could you see yourself ever loving me?”

“Probably not.”

…It’s settled then.


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