portrait of the night we fell out of love 

we fed the trash can so much it turned animals.
four legs & a pig's tail. scream & left
dirty footprints on the walls. we make a lot of trash
for two people. i open delivery boxes
& flatten it down. i pick up dead birds
off the sidewalk & feed them to the trash can.
feathers are a kind of currency. i will give you
four feathers in exchange for a quiet window.
i wil give you three of my fingers 
in exchange for a good story. there are few
good stories. the sky is ink with muck.
the world is a wad of gum. 
we had no where to take our garbage so we
scattered it across the floor & prayed
the trash can woulod return hungry enough
to leave us clean. the creature was so 
bizarre with its furious movements. 
we laid down in the trash & recalled
the claws & the voice. i openned my mouth
& asked if you could see the trash 
in my throat. you peered inside & saw
a whole realm of cirus tents, each one of them
piled with dead animals & candy wrappers.
music played softly between my teeth.
this is just one of my many 
attractions. you said i was 
a surprising man. i said i try not to be.
we folded the wrappers like t-shirts
& i licked the surfaces while you weren't looking.
a hint of sweet icing. a smear of chocolate.
the world is a series of remnants. 
i told you over & over we just need to be patient
& the trash can will return. it will 
perch where it used to & it will beg us
to fill it again. i didn't really believe this.
i don't believe in returns let alone
ressurections. i filled a bowl with 
banana peels & watched each day as they 
turned into a soupy silk. you were looking
for a new trash can which is to say 
you were looking for a new lover.
sometimes i wondered if you were like me--
always searching for the next person
to love. were you scared you'd become
a particle in my throat? disposal 
is worse than elegy. even when my shoes 
fall to shreds i have a hard time 
sticking them down my throat & saying goodbye. 
you left & the house was still thick 
with all your debris. i never picked it up.
i waited for it to dissolve into the air
like all saddness does. i breathe it in.
it feeds the carnival. there are tents full
of regrets. a smell of tired sugar.
the trash can has not returned
but on some deep nights i hear it weeping
up & down the street.