I was learning how to pass out like the greats
while playing formaldehyde flip cup with my ghosts.
In the haziness, your blunt-filled mouth looked like
cloudy acupuncture. So we floated together
through neighborhoods that were the future
and the past, all rolled into one American mess.
There were shirtless soldiers speaking in tongues
next to antique gas pumps and the silhouettes of brides
hanging from chandeliers above the treeline.
Like a humid garden hose with a tiny gash
the sadness leaked out so slowly we could
never rinse off our sweat completely.
Outside was a curse and inside was worse.
We were beautiful in a disposable camera way.
I suppose we didn’t want to kiss on life rafts
and eventually we starfished into a distance
only telescopes could appreciate. Then the dots
became so big and bright that there was no choice
but to face them.
Jay Sprogell