Breadcrumb #331
KALLIE FALANDAYS
Everyone wants to believe
You’re sick for them
That there’s a pill
Lodged in your trachea
They imagine you dead anyway
. . .
Your friends sound far away
On the phone
. . .
You dream of soggy luggage
(Yours)
Spit in your girlfriend
‘s soup
Sour brain/damaged father (hers)
Deranged and blabbering on the way
To the bathroom
To the ocean
. . .
We call each other sweet words
Until we can’t see
Peacock
Janela
I’m fome
Once, I smashed my head
On a picnic table to see I said to them
Can you see I asked, bloody and awake
Finally and for once
I licked a gravedigger in a dorm room
He told me his mother died
He told me to slow down
This is not for the others either
Who take everything a little bit
And always ask for more
The spoons sticking straight out from their penises
And pubic hair crowding their teeth
. . .
Brilliant baby, if I hold you
So silently, can we pretend
That no one can see us
From up here
From so down low