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?