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O+

This is what we call faith in the system

Ductwork overhead silverish and hanging liquid warts

I loved you so much once I

Don’t want to say it again

TXV

Gourds of sand on highway embankments 

Vaguely Arabian and

anticipating crash, I dream hurling headlong helmeted into them

In the work truck

Good God- bluey canopy of September night

I can see our tiny little heartbeats poke through

Rusty scarified infrastructure of the-

What?

Of the night I met you looking angled and blackhaired. Jumala’s raven messenger

HVAC

I sometimes make this soft connection back in the junkyard of the mind- that heat trace and heart race have a similar kinda vibe

You’re a brick in my throat

A trick of the earth

And real!

Really flesh

BMS

Tubes truck air from here to there

I’m just the dumb duck thereunder with

My good old waterproofing

Cede the cute stuff to the big guy in charge

I’m five pounds of pressure on the granulated flange 

Laughing all the while oh ha ha

Watch me work myself and then  —

look at the

O+ as it wriggles down the page

And so he says:

“fuck you and your sense of play”

Forget the ways I’m supposed to say I love you it’s contrived;

You’re the reason I’m alive