false sense of security

moments before alligator,
we all drove to the mouth of the waterfall
where no legs were supposed to exist anymore.
i used to sleep only four or so hours 
a night back then. i think, "no wonder 
i was crazy & on fire." i loved you though
like only a fire can love. tongue around
the heel. we walked in greenwich village
& smelled cigarettes & lost music. 
there were billboards with our bones on them.
i am envious of everything my fledgling teeth
had not bitten down on. the windows 
that had not turned into terrariums around me.
never go toe to toe with the dark,
it always has something else to spit
into the sky. a boy without a face. a train
that rides, passengerless towards the end 
of the island. & to think i used to float 
on my back in the public pool & not see
a chandelier above me. just the clouds, each 
a zoo room. how soon before the jaw
do the lungs know they are flags?
sometimes still we talk on the phone 
while i'm driving. i think of how small
the beds we slept in were. no choice
but to hold on to each other. 
i have always thought innocence is
overrated but then again it has been a long time
since i had a carpet like that. sometimes
on the right night, i walk for days until
i reach a pair of knees. they knock together.
all the doors in the world have kitchen knives
behind them. i chase myself back
into the warmth like i do for the chickens
at dusk. a fox calls me four times.
i don't pick up. he leaves a voicemail 
claiming to be my mother. my real mother
leaves a head of lettuce on the porch.
there is a police car on the moon & a police car
up the street & a police car grazing in the field. 
i keep my face in the top drawer next to the keys.