amateur 

there is a video of us as balloons.
necks tied in a knot. i tell you,
"give me some of your air."
on the television plays the jupiter version of
our lives. the one for photographs
& open mouths. then, in the basement
there is a cassette tape where the real
blood comes from. haven't you ever
taken a picture with the hope that
you would be able to replicate the moment
a thousand times? the stop motion prophecy.
i bend my around into a knot.
you kiss me like a trough of water.
we used to put the window in between
our teeth. the window looked at
the other building brick wall to brick wall.
face to face. the alley, a little flute.
in this video i ask you, "am i an apricot?"
you laugh & say i am not.
on a computer a god watches us
& tries to forget his hungry. tries
to turn it into a needle. the good times
are always a place of worship. 
if you look on the underside of my tongue
you will see the tally marks 
of nights i tried to turn into a cockroach.
scurried to the bathroom & thought,
"what the hell am i going to do?"
the phone still recording. the future
bedrooms like colonies of eyes 
waiting to feast on what my skin 
could say if i just kept going. 
it always ends with you letting go.
i never let go. untangled, you go
towards the clouds. a red balloon.
people will squint to stare up at you
& think, "whose birthday is it?"
or, "she must have it so good."