by Erín Moure
Hauling off short w/
your hands in the air stupid
w/ beer torn walls implode & your breath
stoppt in the odd man’s arms
& you’re mad
so you grab his tie & twist
it taut across his neck muddled
w/ the thought that
you shouldn’t stand up so fast—
Brain circuits short out steamed
smell burns the astonished air
you jerk harder trapped in his grasp
& whining let me go still
turning your wrist & watching
it turn all your muscles shorted out
till walls collapse &
the aftermath begins: you saying
its okay
& meaning sorry
the odd man stung w/ angry confusion
insists its not okay
meaning its not okay
so you shrug/ arch downward thru the blistered
void retrieve staggered glasses
watch the broken circuit of walls
continue breaking bodies trapped
& burning in the sullen air—
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