summer

mezcal from a paper cup

in a place 

i don’t know 

orange rose up 

grabbing

complicated nights 

but only in my head 

a spread out landscape 

and too many details 

pueblo eyes are very good at remembering 

the stars take notes

the ground simmers

the mountains are always made of mud

side door

the light is coming undone 

the wind blows hard and hot 

an archetype

a temptation 

a floatation 

and I’m preparing to watch the rest

suicide  

this other person’s story

the click of light

the burn of sun

the getting over of someone

the getting under them too

the finding space in the social 

perimeter 

the parameter 

wiggling the dagger 

finding the millimeter 

of humanness

some

try to pierce 

some 

arrive

and the wind is still hot while it belies the answer of a big, big question:

 

can i come in now?

should i use the side door?