the smells of outside
[cold, pesticide]
wrap around his body
as it wraps around me--
I haven't left this room in days.
This is the crash zone,
The X marked across a rooftop
The squealing tires, the blank stare…
I have this melancholy I can’t shake
the this-is-what-will-happen
if you just don't talk about it.

he’s somber with zeppelin he flicks a lighter
on and off on and on and
he stares at me. passes the pipe.
His voice is the slow crack of a semiautomatic
as he calls it a night
knowing that I can feel my eye sockets
but not my eyes.