crash the water
I waited for you on the bridge. At 3 in the morning. I waited for you. On the edge of the moon. I waited for years. Until I realized you were never coming. The sun rises to illuminate the dead and the disappearances. I carry a paperback into the tall weeds or into the supermarket. I hold myself in the dust storms of quiet apartments. I chip silence off the sun. I taste bright, dirty snow of a Christmas morning. It tastes like mass murder and emptiness. I duct tape my failing firearms and allow myself to be inhaled into the lungs of deserted buildings. I taste the dust. I masturbate way down deep in secret basements of the airport. I want to move through you. Past a century of lights.