Adage in Reverse

Let me repeat this to make it true:

in the morning there were no morning

glories to open their belled throats

like bloated trumpets. There was no hound

at the edge of my bed. Nothing to howl back.

I thought I knew the sound that was seconds

behind me but the stalking was faceless.

So mirror, tell a girl who looks like me: you’re indifferent.

In the end, all laws are part of this bending—

light that keeps us awake or alive,

and I wanted every man to love

me like he had a gun pressed to his back. No,

I wanted to love every gun. I am someone

somewhere, repeated and facedown. Once,

for the small flowers. Once for a trumpeted

sound. Once for the bullet I tuck in my bloated howl,

and once for the glass that tells me: you’re in here

you’re in here, look down.

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