dragging the packet
he’s made of her heavier dead
he’s thinking than alive
just like her still to be
encumbering his desires
wrapped and wrapped
with old frayed twine
that now catches on
every damn stone and stick
shoulda gone to walmart
duct tape beer shoulda used
the rug shoulda many things
drag-shoulda-thump-shoulda-drag
neon mind flash: the shovel
still in the still open trunk
car far away way up the hill
need to think roll a joint
what a turn-on she’s so dead
you don’t have to bury me here
must be the pot nonetheless the bag says
farther down past these trees
a ledge with nothing below it but
long air and dark sea
shuthefuckup he says to the bag
hating her she’s usually right
water’s good as dirt for disappearing
Isaidshutit kicks and kicks the bag
who’s boss now
down and down dragging down
to the ledge
not much of a ledge
he says
a verge more like
says it loud like he’s cuing
some offstage somebody
for the second or third time
but the bag is silent there’s
just this wind he’s so on top of
feeling so elevated
he’s quaking with it
even thinks he hears
the pebbles humming underfoot
he shouts
best damn night of my life
leans down to the bag says
who’s got the last word now
but he knows
what her silence usually means
she’s holding something back
she’s not telling him
something he doesn’t want to hear
but really ought to know
like just about right now
Accidental Antenna 