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