gray matter

In my sleep I can feel

the few moments more you stay awake each night

thinking about me

and thinking about

the all important,

anti-end to all of this.


The way it could start over if it had to,

if it were asked to,

keeps me up, too.


Mercy, mercy us;


like two halves of a worm

split by a devious child

have created their own lives

and personalities:

still strangely similar,

gelatinous and slimy,

rude to the eye

& to the touch.


It shouldn’t be such a tall order

to ask you to remember

like it is for you

to ask that I forget.


Maybe one day

we can sweat next to each other again

and try to understand our own humanity

using one another as our only

points of reference,

as if all that there is

and ever was

were contained in the dust

inside a sunray

that falls on the space between our eyes,


And later, that same day

we can talk about what shade to paint the walls

and what to do for dinner


have you called your mom recently?


Yeah, she told me

she stepped on a worm during a sunshower

with her stiletto heels

and split the damn thing

right down the middle.



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