photos

on my camera that i've only just sorted through.

late resolution: take more photos.

night and day

(frivolous alternative: Gay Divorce)

in the day
i take the place of the shadows
i became.
in the day
i take the place of the things
we couldn't name,
in the day
my body takes the space we kept
last night, when

it was unclear there were forms -
when it was unclear there were shapes
or norms, states or laws
at any time,

ever.
in that darkness

like before anything, we didn't have decisions. only

impulses,

that something must exist

to make my heart

feel

like

this, like it’s there

(you know,

there),

to make me apprehend this distance between

where eyes and the outside swap,
in which you appeared and
were barely real and
my heart wouldn’t stop –
maybe a bodily excuse for why
i could not.
but
in the day i can discern
the outline of

your arm on

my arm like
chaos to horizon,
as our eyes open on the bodies that we
pressed into orison.
in the day
you take the place of the things
i couldn't name,
in the day
you take the place of the puzzle and
the skein,
in the day
you take the place of what i
struggled to explain,
and
our figures take the place of the shadow
we became

but no really.



things are great.

imaging an ex/girl/friend.

so now that we've ended the experiment
of our trial unseparation,
we could go to a gallery?
sure sure sure sure sure...
but, will you come as yourself,
or the personified domestic prop i dream about now.
i'm making out with a cd rack
at our old house party, all our friends
are there and are thinking, what the fuck?
but, they don't realise the cd rack
is you.
so you're clear, the party was pretty hoppin' (we had snakelights);
i could've made out with a lot of other, actual people.
i guess this is love.
but in my waking clarity, you were kind of brittle,
and, while perspicacity is afforded,
maybe this new break is for the best.
now i can finally get a tan,
without your tall concert-comfort limbs
fucking up the UV.
now my lungs can regenerate, while you
smoke yours dry enough that i can
see right through and know that
in there it's still 2009 for us.
and that's how it should stay,
i guess.
so, sure sure sure, we can go look at artefacts -
rouse the past passions of others,
contemplate a still-born avant-garde
and forget that this was a lot like
our first date.
we can look at the works and not our feet this time.
we can circle the podiums
in some kind of symbolic denial
of our own buried chests,
and toast to your art-world success.