[pre]The descent of my standards
can only be measured
in negative centigrades
leading to the infinite.
Or in rocks in my pockets.
Or in fathoms of water below.
Or in bullets
shot into the sea.
I’m too tired
to differentiate
the several types of despair.
I am, simply put,
a permafrost of silence.
And what’s worse, it’s all because
I can’t understand a word you say.
The words freeze in the air between us
and hang like defeated snowflakes.
And even when you fan yourself
And slap your hair away from sweaty cheeks.
All I get is the glacial angularity of your shoulders
At 90 degree angles or more
From my face.
The rotation of rejection
is as cool and slow as the click-clack of ice cubes
spun with a swick of the bartender’s hand
while he leans across the wooden surface
to flirt.
Your giggles are ice
popping and cracking in warm water.
Your head rears and the noise drills
into my bones. A madness
inside you, without me.
Without.
So loud
And I can’t understand.
There’s really not
much else to say.
From the pressure
I’ve gone from cooked
to raw.
The purple on my skin
is spreading. [/pre]
