September Poems (2023)

The Axis My World Spins Upon

Let's start at the sunset;
generally speaking
I have nowhere else to turn, at least
repetitively.

The sun sets and its reverberant colors
soak into the soil of the field,
into the recesses of my mind

and you're leaning towards me,
cupping your hand around your mouth
to whisper into my ear,
you're asking me: you're leaving already?

Already, it seems,
has become the axis my world spins upon—
now, I am leaving, again, already—

when does pain melt into apathy?

And then the sun's burnt orange light is
fogging, streaming down the sky
like steam on a mirror.

By this point I'm already outside,
wisping away like the thin trail of smoke
rising from a dying cigarette on the asphalt;

even if you were to come looking for me now
I'd already be sunk into the night.