i wanted to make you flux
when we met at the ankles 
of the old mountains.
your face covered in bees
and mine a cloak
of dead birds. we watched
television together
until our eyes slipped out
like oyster hearts.
slippery in the evening.
the bees worked & worked
to bring us the comb. 
to deliver churches worth
of cassette tapes. there was
not enough CD space 
to go around. i burned you
a disk of chants. i chose
the outline of a man
because that is how 
i felt this morning. like
my shoulders were meant
for downfalls. you laid down
& i crawled on top of you.
poured the wax. hot
& vibrant. oh plastic trophy.
oh false door. let's talk
about pleasure. let's talk
in stoplights. go & go 
& go. when the more is
a place we could not run to.
make a fist of my chest.
pound me into dust.
between your fingers 
a single blade of grass. a flock
of geese go to return 
a dvd. we are done & panting
& have destroyed 
the whole house. the bees return
to the aftermath. they say,
"this is not a pool hall."
we say, "no, no it's not."

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