Emission of Gas

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It disintegrated beyond recovery
And we are strangers now
Once again, as we were when we met:
Nursing ourselves for another day in life,
Scuttling among petty kicks we regret.

Ironing a shirt, lengthwise — arms first –,
parting the hair there where it is set
To be parted — now well creased — that even the
Turbulence of sex would not unsettle that perpetual creasing.
Rinse. Wash. Flush the toilet.

Look at my stride as I walk:
It is even, it is smooth, it is virile
Even while the edges cut against my skin.
I greet your face as you face to greet me
And casually say ‘how?’, concerned about my suffering.

I stare at the buttonless man, the big-bummed vehicle,
The emission of gas — think how
The glaciers trickle to dust. The gregarious build
Of the dangling many-fold woman and the many firm eyes
That to follow her must.

They follow their dreams — I follow my shadow
As it precedes me, as the sun falls on my back,
Urging me on. Pushing me down the road
And the screen only has a missed call that I miss
From a pathetic piece of flesh with whom I am bored.

Yulia South Bridge
2014-01-23

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