a new forgetting
If only I could fit my head into a lightbulb, into a midnight bookstore. If only a woman would invite me home from the subway station. My brain is facedown in the wine canal. The scalp is full of stars and mice. The radio burns a hole through the wall. I miss someone I used to know. I'll go to the ocean in the morning and think about the life I lost in a distance of blue skies and bells. Isolation is a damp blanket draped over my shoulders. I wait for the heat of noon. I anticipate a new forgetting.