A Viennese bunk bed
A lone cry beside you
Could not keep you
From tangling toward the door
The pillow, as it folds, at the nape
Is wet with a flattened face
All the people of the day
Dissolve with it
And in the semi-empty bedroom
The only things left
Are the ones I couldn’t have.
U-1
Corked by the people we are
The faces we have grown into
And decided to keep
In the bedrooms
We’ve deserted
Traces of sleeping shoulders,
There is a pile of wrappers
That haven’t been taken out yet.
The pieces of ourselves
Crammed into bread crumbs
Of a devoured loaf
Are left in these places.
Soon the rooms that contain them
Will be over run
And lived by them.
Orphean Altitudes
You are not far behind me.
You appear to me still,
In airplane dreams
I wake up
mid-ocean
above the ground
we’ve been erased from.
Invisibility is a most certain death.
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