poem: the liar is the girl from last spring

on the corner of the world i licked out the fringes; the future is just
the new element in the equation of the present, and i am
making it, i am the / creative. and you, darling, are
the road not taken. you lick my neck and my
face; yes, at the heart of all this, this is
a love story. the light morning, the warbling, and the faces of the lovers
when they run into traffic, their feet destroying the slush / the old
snow, and then making it safely to the gas
station. i imagine they kiss, after a run like that, i imagine
from my car. i am the creative. i watched anime with you, like
any other blue-haired girl, and when you rubbed your hands into my
shoulders i felt the earth give way, the earth diluting suddenly and
sinking; you said, boxers usually
have sore shoulders. i was not a boxer, i was trying
to impress you. but now i watch the future careen towards me
and i have nothing to offer it, not even a poem and not even
love. and you are still, somewhere, the lonely boy
watching the corners, watching them fade tokyo-blue; but i
would have spun the axis into my breast, would have
let out the cigarette smoke, burned it into
my faded boku no somebody sweater,
burned it into the indie music and my trembling false
read 3:45 a.m.

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