someone and someone

was feeling okay was

slowly approaching
the idea of suicide
 

was four below

zero at two
in the afternoon
 

sunlight and the

taste of road salt

the ghosts of

old lovers

nothing to laugh at but i

was laughing there at
the highway’s edge
while the river froze and
the first of the massacred
children was buried

while the

conspiracy theorists
fucked each other
in curtained motel rooms

and i forget if i was

nothing but i knew we
were nowhere and it felt
like this mattered

felt like small birds

singing but without the
hope of spring

felt like frost filling the

cracks in the walls

colder than the morning

they found my father on
the dining room floor,
though the same shade of
grey, and at this point in
time all objects in the
known universe are
                  of course
still moving further
apart

at this point in time

your body
means more to me
than your name

seems like a waste of

breath to apologize
for things that aren’t
ever going to change