This antagonistic
serrated
version of myself is not unlike
the coyotes we watched
stalk the ice.
I want to explain.
To tell you how these fires
around me
were never started by
my hands.
But I do not explain
how you are a universal
experience I long for.
I am not that coyote,
that half-bitten
nail
shaped truth. Yes,
sometimes I stay awake
reading
not science fiction, not
my favourite lyric
poems,
but brutality.
Here is the ebb and flow
of anger, and enough
sorrow to last
three more days.
Sorrow I, Sorrow II
Sorrow III—do you
understand
that this is the title
of everything I make?
I see my eyes everywhere,
in all things
and when I say eyes,
I mean envy.
Believe me. Sometimes
I whisper
in the dark as your arm
reaches across the skin
it took months
to let you see.
I can’t blame
you for not listening.
I blame you
for not listening.