Drive to the AirportToothlike static prickling car speakers
chattering radio stations touching dark places between talking and singing Radiant songs stripped to metallic waves tangled electric wires I must fix with my father's rusted silver wrenches You push your black suitcase into the trunk colorless traffic lights swaying ahead I remember everything beautiful when I see how sharp your body has become gray wool coat sinking into your stomach I remember pressing two perfect leaves over your eyes at the end of summer when you laid back and said I am dying I don't know what I hit but suddenly my dashboard dips down slightly crooked Leaning heavily into injuries halfway invisible lacerations underneath shaking metal engine parts Finally my tires roll over glass burns off smoking and dragging its pieces across four lanes of blurring automobiles The first thing I love about new fire: its blossoming orange center consuming whatever object it desires first Eating and kissing the skeleton's edge calmly before its appetite erupts and then stillness, cool as medicine shot Through an IV into the arm's soft curve the press of memory turning over renaming the unnameable feeling.
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