found a home in your misery (ours)

by blake ellington larson

rented a beach house without consulting

photographs i won’t touch (can’t)

spent all afternoons chasing trails of
hidden cobweb notions that
could of built our church

but the old man inside me sleeps it off

as if i could puke you out of my lungs
as if i could forget our
everything-is-made-to-break-us philosophy


i can’t wait to hear your post-life debauchery
your elvis-is-alive monologues
your no-more-coffee-days

but my totem poles are
filled with stardust and wire

and as you are sorry
i am thinned


and your worry sings chimes

and my sturdy arms flap upwards

and the blue turns to black

and the wings beneath my wind


crawl crawl crawls

to your moonlight