for Maurice
one time i had horses
millions of them
until floating became something
small enough
to slip into people’s drinks,
my knees suddenly too weak
to be held onto,
too many foot noises
and my own wandering
grip
people are too lonely
and mountain like
to be neighbors
so many drinks hugging skin, slipping
me
beneath my seat
long hair is not even that pretty
just as
a poem needs to throw up
a little
sometimes,
we find out the accuracy
of liquids
I am no longer of identity,
better
than grasshoppers and ants
these things aren’t important,
but they’re enough to be
like sleeping again,
of the waking up
habits of birdlife,
suddenly, cold bathwater
and guns lying around,
i could maybe
shoot melting snow, running
water, dripping
icicles
if that ever happened,
i can go like this and
roll right onto you,
but i have a hard time
keeping the letters flat
around here,
words share the properties
of
poorly cut metal, misplaced napkins, water
more ice cubes than one breath could reach
and that’s life without kissing, anyway,
just my face
pushing up
against
your face
