notes from a waking...

what if trifle, a boast found twice
once for me
and once for me.

an expanding skirt, not decrepit
then when
and then not us.

a squeezed thirst is finding it a third time.

put your hand on your chin, be thoughtful
be still
be an obvious believer
a fourth foundling beautiful.

a fifth behind your passenger’s seat
or you reaching up in the cabinet, for something.

I’ve seen so I can overhear, conversation be swift
see me not for who I am
see the hot idaho wind, the machine shadowed dusk
taking turns tuning the car stereo
language the passing mining towns
into empty stomachs, and the grieving of ourselves.
know your own head, set if off on my chest fidget
follow one train down with another
drawn later unawares
a sixth column of the good stuff.

a seventh voice streaming, a passenger side window chant.

eight are all numbers, do you have enough of them to see about us.

I am all missing rib today, a side ache
a light snore
how many times do you get to look at someone this way, before
it’s easier not to
reading back a linger in the sound of us, in our ears
a retreatment.