Breadcrumb #71

DANIEL GRJONKO

When did I say that?

...rings through my head which is purple
and twisted into the filthy blue couch
that we have evolved into owning. 

I used to be owned by the moon...
she would wring me sick and force me to drink,
but that’s changed.

I still drink,
but that moon sits on a chain around your neck,
ever-sliding in gravity with its shadow.

And as we want to laugh as we terribly scream,
I see that gravity shifting.

Between us — 
the moon and its brother who have embraced as lovers —
something shifts.

Two strangers, or space rocks,
or dust, locked in gravity —
which is something we give a name to
so we feel like we understand it — 
start to speak in truths.

But logic offends the other.
It must.
And so I hear myself screaming

When did I say that?

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