6 missed calls.
(866) Unknown,
(803) Local,
(302) DE – USA,
(407) Orlando, FL,
Unknown ((Simple)).

Last not listed, not matching – 3-digit difference,
negative difference, opposing mottos
smattering the cop cars on common ground.

Anyway, the numbers. Math is supposedly
a science, so I should grab hold, grasp
some principles. One here, eleven
numerals, convenient claims to tell
my future, & fuck one smooth move
of sixty jolts if I don’t make it to the
just-before-hitting-Dial before
remembering I favor services listing
“forget” in the realm of possibility.

Something in the quiet hangover – no headache, swimming eyes, absolute awareness of air against skin, momentarily forgetting the use of hands & fly-on-the-wall-ing simple actions – sits well with me.

Crack another, shiny skin, clear conscience,
accepting offers & saying “when your eyes turn
that green, that’s my favorite you” – A woman
is a human devil, no doubt, & one of the shes
committed wide open nights to rage against
the warning signs I adore, but it only stands
amended: A woman is a evil devil. There
walk friends I’ve yet to meet.

Begin those days by waking with sun rays, water & pills, & quick turnover to the luxury of unconscious.

But the science – a spray being the dispersal
of molecules, away in law, recollecting in
lines forming letters, forming truths, so long
as weather patterns & cause-needers stay
still. And lust exists only in pheromones,
facial expressions; Darlin’, I puffed up plumage
on Day One, & she can think she chemiclaimed
you, but booze is thicker than water, & I know
the reactivity of double bonds.

It’s all been here since the dawn of time,
sunshine. The combinations, sequences
are the only “new”s we can know.

Domesticity, dollar stores, floating through the picked-over, crossing arms to rush home & lie on the floor in only underwear, experiments with light & newfound skeletal angles for teasing; Talk you to long, to touch, to come, then ache naked for remembering what hands do.

I don’t smile at 5 A.M.. Try once more to touch
palms, though, blind five doors & turn right;
Release the dopamine, the oxytocin & dreams,
& I’ll laugh your name right back into your mouth.
It sounds like good sense, tonally, but check
phonetics of the syllable, & I may as well shout
for the devil to appear, fast as you’ll dissolve.

 

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