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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