carnival apparatus 

that summer, i went to the carnivals alone.
everyone was dying 
like silverfish. you lived inside 
a telephone. i said, "when i die
will you please come & marry me?"
you spoke & the line cut out & i asked "what?"
too many times until i just had to give up.
sometimes you can feel someone else
slipping out of your orbit.
sand through fingers. colander 
of corkscrew pasta.  butter melting into silk. 
i went on a ferris wheel. just me. there was
not even an attendant. the ferris wheel 
looked out over the whole county.
trees & little wounds where there once
were coal mines & the rail roads 
crisscrossing the land like stitches. 
i find myself wondering often
about what was removed; from myself
& from the land & from you.
i want to remember you in a crowded cafe
sitting across a tiny table from me. 
the carnival became everywhere
i needed it to be. in the grocery store.
in the woods where i always found dead deer.
you can build machines to keep yourself alive.
the carnivals saved me
& took me apart. once, on a summer night
where my blood had turned to sugar
i called you & you didn't pick up.
i was going to beg you to come 
watch the fireworks with me.
to be terrified is to know exactly
where the carnival is. 
survival is sometimes a process
of motion. the tilt-a-whirl. the scrambler.
vertebrae of neon. the summer always ends though.
there is always a skeleton
on the other side of the flesh. 
the ferris wheel always stopped
at the top for me. just myself & the old trees.
feet dangling above your mouth. 
call me back please my love.
tell me where you keep your carnivals. 
what you see when you look out
above everything.