here a carcass drops to the ground: eyeless
splayed & open—dawn splinters on the horizon—
the sunlight has its own sound; crackles
over the sidewalk & rolls nearer. here ants spill
from the rotting fence & a cricket is picked
to its husk—here entomophobes
turn beetles over & watch them limp away
to remind themselves that goodness
is still real—here, pedestrian roadkill: snails,
unmoving on the bypass, mid-escape—
i stop always halfway before the gutter
& melt into asphalt…
night is the single ephemeral thing of june.
i haven’t seen you for a while—i haven’t been
so much of a what as a where—can you imagine
that skyline, behind so many supine
afternoons? sometime i’ll wake up, after the sickness
has been distilled from sorrow—after the fever
has sweated me out & shut off my headlights
gently on the pavement; here, pedestrian
roadkill. we’re so often caught in loops
of trying to do everything the same way—we’re so often
caught in loops, trying to become something new
while carrying our carapaces—nothing disappears
to august—there is no do but stay. bodies, always
in a state of decomposing: rot one day—bones
another—time fries over-easy on concrete—
there i’ll walk barefoot & remember the grain
on my heels. repeat after me: no love
can last through summer. repeat: the snails
will not be spared—they’re far too close to home.
