when there is none.
when the pavement stops bleeding
and the badge splinters,
when skies are illusions and stars
flow like rivers from amputations.
speak to me where the billboards
turn soot and blue smoke,
cloud above crowded cities, the erasure
of bathroom signs
color-coded, pillows drowning,
the sway of dark eyes.
do chopsticks stalk your fingertips?
or is melanin enamel, DNA identity.
tell me where the cars roll down cardboard dreams
past origami escape routes over
the landscape of “alternate lies.”
Lies that run around closed eyes
like purple veins,
like candles that become measures
of how dark the night is.
does rubble spell out our lives?
smoke burning at the Sun
on the “other side of the world,”
as if there are not enough worlds already.
as if a galaxy of black holes and dwarf planets and
red giants isn’t enough, only a constellation
of abnormalities, misfits, liars.
Liars. Oh, the liars.