thiasus

 EMPIRICAL ANALYSIS OF OXYGEN

on your     doorstep

     the cliff         to your spaceship

is obscured                           by a narco.

     i just wanted        to check

who was leaving me notes –

                     your dictionary of vertigo

was a surprise.

if the question      i gave you

      was a punch                 in the flower,

if it wasn’t

          a packet of deliriant trivia,

                  would you        kiss it?

        i’m sure        your diaphragm

                  could handle        the cortex

of the autopsy

    of whoever      isn’t here,

                      because       they won’t be.

          when you can’t         neaten

your blood-knuckled nicotine spasm,

long exposure      will bring you up

     under              another sky.

the wax on your vellum face

                     makes a painting.

                                                i can’t touch

        how that many breaths

                                                     is enough.