Jazeki

which aspect of Spring would you prefer— the garden party sunny-side, heaped over with hollandaise, a quick deviling, a three-day course in the art of proper table manners and what constitutes Sunday best or would you rather a controlled burn, a reckoning, a shade off the idea of a haint blue door, hares split between the country house and the city house because no bunny’s perfect anymore too many flies in the honey traps now too many chickies in this basket (what a case, a suit to follow)

Sometimes, I feel like a basement cricket: stumbling blindly through the dark with half a leg to stand on. I call out misshapen songs to no one in particular—I guess it doesn’t matter. They warrant no response. And still, I try over and over until my voice gives way to the rusted keen of a door hinge on its way out. This heart held potential (once) as a home for wandering gods. Such a shame it's been condemned.

do you need clothes for this fine occasion or is it just like everything else— optional, really do you need a map for this rancid place, an oar for this river, or a coin for your good eye have you made your offer yet, transubstantiated, dipped your fingers knuckle-deep to test the waters and the wounds how many marks are enough how red the eyes how solemn the expression are you of the earth or of the flesh, a cunning thing with darkened feet and hands do you weep over the too-dark sky no noise pollution tonight as your colors run are you too busy celebrating to realize the consequences what comes next this cage is big enough for two are you leaning on an old wound, relying too heavily on a crutch that you’ve outgrown who will you cut from your good graces what neck deserves a red ribbon have you thought of what comes next a light in the darkness or a great silence: the hibernation of civilization

Tie your hair at the nape of your neck and suddenly you’re a lion in need of taming: all whips and teeth and fancy hoops to jump through (inhumane, really, but you were always good at performing tricks for enthralled audiences looking to be entertained: a wink here, a grin there, a witticism cleverly placed) And you’ve never really known anything outside of this gilded cage, comfy and starving for attention and I could just press myself against your ribs, generalize your beats per minute, take a bow and lead you out into the sequined moment to a raucous din of applause and whistles, roses thrown It’s all in my head, really, because there’s no one ever there—ever watching our conversation, our transfiguration into something other than ourselves on the backslide of an argument And I realize I’m no good at taming as I watch you cock your head and stalk out of the room, dragging some sliver of me through the doorway on your way out And the dishes rattle along to the furious beat of the

And if I could, I’d bottle you up, an ornamental fish on display for all to see I’d freeze you in place, turn you into a diorama of the best parts of life: past, present, future painted against a blue splash of something I’d slip between laser sphynxes focused on the lemon wedge of sunlight distilled into that holy cup I’d sigh at that sliver of a moon dangling on the sweet edge of night, curl around some lovely maypole with eyes fixed on a distant shadow Up the cosmic pillars go with infinity on the brain

thought slipping into tunnel vision--suddenly! moonlight overhead

It’s only fitting that I bleed on the sleepy heels of a void moon saying goodbye to my next of kin yet to take root “My line ends with me.” That’s what all the cool kids say and it’s bitter on my tongue to give praise to the reality of the situation with ginger candies and herbal teas laden with affirmations The universe is only so beautiful in the eye of the beholden And take a seat, won’t you? I’ve cleared a space in the garden because the table ain’t set We can take turns digging up buried things, like compliments and little skeletons of things to come Get your hands dirty, nail-deep in mine for the moment at least

well, here’s a cutting board and my favorite paring knife the unsuspecting would call us full tang—a life full of lemons a patio orchard of citrus twisting contained in beautiful shapes, you wouldn’t know better without the busiest bees no one’s got a graft of this situation heart onto heart and full sun quickly setting, settling down to bed I go and in the morning I’ll rise to the sway of the breeze from some open window and I’ll be fine even after you’ve gone wipe my dirty hands on an old tea towel or my favorite apron build mint juleps from the ground up salt the earth in my spare time

Hold your tongue until the moment is right Isn’t that what you said Do you remember The promise we made All those years ago I remember And I shouldn’t look back, but I do Always at an alarming rate And who am I now Taking spiritual lessons from ghost bears Keys to your lessons Everything’s backwards No secrets here Planting seeds in imaginary gardens For things that won’t come to fruition You’re in perpetual motion And I should accept change Like the taste of ash on my tongue I should, but… I’m trapped at the beginning Of my own path And I’m afraid to leave you behind You’re the only thing I have left Slipping through my fingers What will I have left Stagnant waters, unfinished thoughts, a heap of— I’m falling apart in the night, Waiting for sudden changes I’m stronger than I think I think I don’t love you anymore, Not like I did, at least Because you haven’t loved me the same way These are things that hurt, but it’s true And I cannot keep— Do you know why I keep ornamental