by Ryan Adams
into a single hole
like an eye
over the hudson those lines
light beams
they shot the blue to hell
and shrapnel fell
in puddle swallows
every-fucking-where
and you knew,
you knew I was lost as a ghost is
but fully here
body, soul, and bone-whole lost
that’s why you told me about the boys
the boys you have on a line
and that problem with collecting them
like I would agree
and say,
“oh, me too, I have a list”
but I do not
my legacy is just ruin
and a rot
someplace in my throat
my heart couldn’t find
so the words forgot
so I asked you something easy
and said,
“shall we make our way back into the city?”
of course, you said, and then
we went
If you could race me home
up those beams
you’d have to go
made of light
but changing so fast
they forget where they go
and dissolve
like a crypt
of tombs
into a past
where we are not
because
and I am saying this loosely,
I will not love again,
for I have learned
Dreams, God, Albert, and Disappointment
Albert wakes God up (again) and God is pissed,
but then laughs
and makes tea
tea for two
and they sit by the bay window
and God speaks
and Albert, grinning, says, “hmm”
and not much else
and when he talks
it isn’t in a germanic drawl
no
they speak one language
Angelica
which sounds like a puppy barking
about nothing in particular
like an animal sigh
and
eventually
Mrs. Claus comes round too
and says, “hello, Albert,” like he was a kid
because he is just a kid
always was
always is
punk as funk
and they all listen to the story of how
and why
and Albert tries very hard
very hard
not to ask too many questions
and
eventually
goes back to the dormitory
and writes stuff down
the ink disappears
into a cloud
and I wake up
in the middle of this firing range
where the bullets
are still the curse of days
and the worry
that my heart will explode
from love
and
disappointment