Night, I know you are powerful and artistic

in your misspellings.

How distinctively I sense your brooding,

feel your warm breath against my face,

hear your laughter—not cruel only amused

and arrogant: young—

insisting on my guilt.

Night, let me be part of you

but in my own dark way.

To be kissed? Waiter!

I like watching you

sliding into the banquette

with a red wine

a warm glass

still animate

only flesh is elevating it clasps

a prick can be key

how it brings along

exquisite its red life animal press

dark between bones

like the body’s answer

to the doozy of us

hurled forward

still talking all spent

& always dizzying near

with sour breath

time’s metric shhhh

Once upon a time when suicide was grinding its hoofs to nails

to what extent are we the same

as our thoughts a theme park of my loudest

explosions as a kid I would wake up

convinced I had burned the house down

my mum bringing me back to earth

with a pebble on my cheek my dad

offering Starbursts could be so gentle

——
Once upon a time when suicide was a GP who told me

I was just overthinking everything

it’s funny how much damage

people are capable of the person

capable of the most damage

never said a thing like that to me

perhaps my dad most of all

understood where we came from

——

Once upon a time when suicide was a rational phobia

of nature trails and trying to explain

to uni friends that a tent can be a body

in the right light sometimes my dad

would fight other dads in the street

 one holiday in Rome for example

by the time they were finished

neither dad had any shoes on

——

Once upon a time when suicide was the realisation

that being scared is caused mostly

by thinking on the topic of thought

keeping close to the walls suicide

assures me it has the perfect analogy

imagine your sister’s body snorkelling

outside of its life now keep imagining

whatever you do don’t forget