(break the nose, make it perfect)

voluntarily ghosting ourselves.
(given our ability to graft or compartmentalize) (to remove the fat around
                                                                                        the yes)

the fulcruming of flesh: the red swimming, the hyphen, the hem.

so this is the adult disappointment. the roses run out of water and they
die on the second day.

(insofar as needles become bees in the air)

tongues to ribbons. ribbons to lungs.

each of us becoming dragons, belching
smoke and glaring. like the dog’s hackles we are eternally up.

words roll off and we can’t seem to peel them back. raze the table,
crust of bread, salt and pepper, water glasses to the floor.

is it still a table. the cloth alone vaunts its emptiness.

a shadow reaches farther than the thing itself.
the way ‘epiphany’ has come to mean ‘a longtime comfort.’