goat smoke

(1)

hurt is merciful, contradictory.
heartbreak and running into the trees, toward the drums,
loose teeth and bleeding gums.
the air is slithering and maybe what i’m seeing is me, planted up to my knees,
black as sleep in the hot sun.

i see how you’ve been dragged along,
expected to trade your questions for calm.
hurt is merciful. hurt is believing that love isn’t arbitrary,
that heartbreak isn’t necessary. you are running after me, toward the guns,
torn open for no one in the hot sun.

(2)

pressure and choking and cinnamon sticks in her hand, we cannot
bring ourselves to shaky tables if this is allowed to stand.
pass her around. she’ll not be passing out.
soon now, soon. press it against your cheek and be moved.

lucky for you there is no meat on the bones, no soul.
swoon. there are more pockets and bags to go through. angels are looking at you.
nobody is impressed, nobody is talking about you.

trudge the truth. hedge the questions:
wasn’t this supposed to be heaven? wasn’t this supposed to be over already?
trick the bends into believing they are straight again
and hang between them. soon now, soon.
lucky for you there is so little to do, there are
so few people depending on you.