meditations in panama

i sit with my back straight out of habit
not learned from school, which didn’t
teach me much except how to fit an
entire sonnet on the toe of my converse
sneaker in sharpie, how to feint & dodge
and faint & be dislodged to finally settle
in my own ire. my knees have been giving
out on me lately, locking like a canal where
i could see myself rise and set in the same
day over and over again, an unearthly clock-
work bound by laws of science which
fascinated the both of us, but we could
spend our lives theorizing about quantum
existence and it wouldn’t really change
anything, not the way we fight or make
love or read about new developments in
technology, which still hasn’t gotten
anything right about love, and probably
never will.

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boids

pirouette on a brain cell
my love for you is an electrical impulse by synapse
to a map of words burned through paper with chemical
intention, something heavier than a lead pipe
that smashes my head into a flutter of boids
pixilated flocks of smattered fragments
that eclipse the image of you in my retina.
and everything is so tenuous,
relationships a matter of optics,
if your cheekbones look better
from the left or the right
beneath the streaming desk light
where you have laid your head down
to draft a dream
that falls apart upon first light,
where i kissed you and where
you wake with a bruise on your face
and a fistful of tiny white paper squares
that turn and dart to the left,
now to the right.