i want to fear the breach in the wake of the tides that break against the cliff to splinter into streaks who split into drops that rain back bite back in and breath—what now, but to join itself once more to sleep for the night? do you wake up in the middle, wishing to be more awake? do you lie in the ditch, eyes vacillating b/w horizons, world closing in, coming to a close, close enough to step out? a shutter, a double sunset; the dirt eats you whole, one loose, wet grain at a time; dubious, care-full, collapse. get up, makeway, pave dao. what is the shape of the lack you leave behind? Ana Mendieta. stepped in-

to a storm,

i’m headed your way; i’m knots away. you’re here to get away. and we remember away-ness, for it keeps us here (but there’s here-ness over there). i don't want a romanticist hermeneutics, but i still want you; low winds blowing, leaves and twigs wrestling in a ditch, sirens;

Pia,

May, your grey reflections shudder on shimmering prairies. i saw you in a field, reading about rocks reeking havoc; i told you to notate that storm, its chaos first choreographed on race tracks in figure-eights; but the air runs dry here; it whistles through chapped chaparral, but still just as loud just as lively; it chatters with thunder.

Liam,

you found her yesterday lying in a ditch. you brought her here; your fangs left marks on her head, shoulder and back. she was mark-made. i placed her in a jar, fixed her a bed, fed her kitten’s milk and tucked her in. setup the heater. shutoff the lights. closed the door behind me. i waited while wanting to feed her again.

the critters ripped me a new one. they crawled up my limbs, ate me out and sucked me dry, but kept me warm all the way down. this netherbody: it calls to me from some beyond. it beckons me to some kind of edge, an exception. it is my body, yet his to [the] touch. edges: i listen for cobalt latex catching cold, dry skin, leather clogs tap-dancing, periwinkle scrubs skimming on metal, conscience and medicine. edgelessness: my lungs hooked to anesthesia, the constant beep bouncing my skull, my skin splayed on the tray next to the operating table. cover me (insurance covers this, surely)—take cover: the storm brews at the edge of the underground.

Sydney,

i’m so sorry i rear-ended your car yesterday. it happened so fast so slow; it looked just like the movies, where cars crinkle like coke cans, where everything flies everywhere (i wanted to be elsewhere). i followed you to the parking lot. i asked if you were okay. i got up and scavenged for significant parts; i ran back to give you the breaklight that flew off. we took photos of the trunk; it hung off the backseat, limp and shriveled, like a wet rag. you watched it, sullen / faded, eyes cast downward, hand running through cornrows. i stepped forth as you held out the other—we shook hands and it rained (as forecasted)...