something like a human trombone

some serious moaning, song-confessed

dangles a rickety swing, my body

I was thinking, inglorious

red light, actual rest

I remember

an endless dialogue with myself

unfurling into the future, the work of echoes

one seat per window

miles, ribbons woven into my hair

smoke rings from the balcony unhinged by no wind

there is another me

I look for then try to forget

there is another you

flexing under the covers like a toe

In those years only the dead smiled

but those years, haven't they ended