not danielle

in the stillness of july
afternoons

in burnt back yards or
bedrooms with 
cracked and blistered walls

not your lover but a
woman you know who says it’s
too hot to fuck and so
you leave


silver sun in a
dirty yellow sky

age of joyous crucifixions

smell of roadkill or of
the river, of garbage bags
exploded onto the sidewalk

the seconds in between the
seconds that
measure your life

an absence of birdsong


traffic
but always on other streets

shadows
but not the ones
de chirico dreamt of and
your choices her are to
breathe in poison or
to hold your
breath

my choices here are
to sink or drown

my vision is
blurred by sweat

the past ceases to matter
once we realize that the
future is completely
beyond our control