we are girls tied body to body to music: our headphones
like veins bringing the low guitars and
lighter wails, pumping in the bright noise that keeps
us from dying in locked rooms the memories
coming like birds in flocks of heat our arms
splitting open from remembering we are not
talking, we are not thinking
I found you laying on the floor alone
and I plugged you in
and watched lights grow sharp in battery-lines
as you came alive and took five hard breaths
we are waiting for the music, we are dead people
living too long after night left,
his fangs almost wiped clean from the red
in our skulls and eyes
poem: trauma
the last pavilion 