glue.

there's an endlessness i never knew before,
white and white, an emptiness down the back of
my neck. i think i made you up and
lost you again, in the formica swirls and tables
edged with redwoods and the flakings
from the lathes of my fingernails.

i'm cracking, collapsing, the crumbling i never knew
before; i'd fall apart again, a pile of little mes
in the darkness under the soles of your feet.
i'd like to walk with you again, swinging our locked hands
but every step i take i crack, and break,

and i lost you again, me in cubes, defined by
plucked grass and daisies and raindrop squares.
there's something i’ve forgotten again,
waiting for me to pick it up and put it back in place,
like a piece of the sun just fell to the ground and i

just have to reach up and out and out.
remember why i'm doing this again.
there's something i've always never known, a missing that i've
had since birth, like i made you up and lost you again,

the sounds just aren't quite right when you run
the water in the bathroom, washing me off your hands.
i'd like to search and succeed with you again, double letters
and long nights when you put me back together again,
stacking my spine up one by one.

eden.

a boy, once by the river.
consciousness, adam,
consciousness and the company of a woman.

knowledge, once by the river.
the presence of gods and an apple tree,
nakedness and the apple tree.

temptation, once by the river.
green grass and
the lust for the unknown,
eve and the green grass.