I am the last of your
improvisatory saguaros

you are in your mascot mask
the least Amish girl I know

a clean-cut Canadian eggcorn
you work at my father’s car lot

I am your Abe Lincoln hair hat
I am your high-gospel unicorn

we invest in midnight silos
until our heads explode

moon like the toe of a snakeskin boot
head-on, above us

when I say “the sky”
it sounds like “this guy”

all my favorite aviators
at work, hungover

our friends live on
the other side of town

you are the lowly car haver
I am Alexander the ingrate

we drive to the lake with
the terrible water

your windshield freezes
I could write your name in it

if you want me to
but you don’t

we drive to the gas station
we talk for a while

I am your fast-food piñata
I am your trick candle

we drive to your house
at the base of the quarry

you say sadly
it’s a fixer-upper

but it’s ok

the shape of your head makes
me think the word jocular

you’d found a pill in your mother’s car
but it turns out to be aspirin

we watch Step Brothers
like close to four times

in your basement
surrounded by your father’s antlers

all that conked beautiful fur

I want to leave my fat mouth
on your ear forever

I want to watch your shadow
on the bottom of a pool

but I am afraid

you say I fuck like
a bee has stung me

then you move to Nashville

sometimes I picture
your soft incarnation

sometimes I sit in the indent
you carved in the computer chair

I can imagine you older at the DMV
going, my god, the time, the time

a parking lot of kids dying in hot cars
framed in the window behind you

it’s one of the things I try and forget

now I work in a factory printing
bible study bookmarks

sometimes birthday cards
a harpoon saved for my suicide

I am Gram Parsons looking for
UFOs in the desert

everything I own is collapsible
I wish I lived in a circus cannon

I don’t believe in guns it’s guts I believe in
I think you said this once but

now I don’t know now
steady now