--I KNOW YOU KNOW IT DOESN’T MEAN THAT MUCH TO ME

Lateral Ends

Sleepless, we work

our impossible minds

from lateral ends,

a dead ocean between us,

deserts rotting in our mouths.

In the morning, I wake to

find I’m still slipping,

losing my grip on the cliff edge,

everything below me black and blue,

bruised and permanent.

My dog keeps cocking her ears,

and I hear it too,

the confused silence,

the barren air.

Outside, your rosebushes

conspire against nature

and combust, shooting thorns

through the picture window.

The dirt hurls rocks,

the robins sling spears.

I’ve got a conch

held up to my ear,

just in case,

but the hail keeps

pinging inside my skull,

ricocheting off a set of

flimsy bone walls.  

Either way, I’m ready

for the next message,

assault or hallucination. 

It’s the history you’ve left me with.

Fang marks on my cheek.