A World of Silences
Noah Cicero
The face in my mirror keeps getting older –
Into the face of the man who beat me
The face in my mirror keeps getting older –
Into the face of the man who beat me
Our lovemaking is a demilitarized zone.
I vomited
up a prophecy in a dive bar,
inhaling hot dogs.
“you’re bad at finishing beverages that aren’t alcoholic,” you told me
You must stop dating
physicists, that sere barnacling across
the cold, leeward faces of rocks.
writing fiction in which people google things,
suffering in a very abstract way
trying very hard to shut the fuck up & failing
The other thing Belle did
Was burn three holes in my thigh
With her cigarette
Revenge for the chaos I’d caused
I, I, I, I, the angel speaks herself
I finger a ring of keys and wonder what doors they might unlock.
There I was on Clement Street in the morning, trying to grow another body.
It’s a sin,
to desire different architecture, I’m told
in a cellar not far from here, wine waits years to peak
before a bottle is cracked open only to empty
a bruise.
Burying me # alive
in training pants and # rags is my son’s
# gift of sorts
Southward
You are the big blue sky
I never thought you would have
The moment when you turn your head over
So the water freezes
So the ginkgo falls
So the wall full of photos is also pale
And
just looked outside
to see what’s going on
whatever it
is thursday
precious, beautiful
whatever as ever
and i can’t
pry my hand
off the windowsill
i’m driving the future
it’s a
Love is like a museum. You have to look around, experience things, and then leave.
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