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There’s a six-wagon pileup at the Kansas River crossing.
This I know: the ghosts are tired of screaming, so fuck it,
everyone cries tonight. Right now the Kansas River
is the color of fruit-punch & I’m lazy in the midday
heat. This I know: you are still alive beside me & two
nights ago we were inside each other. You held me
like a bruised knee. I held you until I forgot I was holding
you. I forgot what it was to hold, so I cradled you, built
a down comforter & watched your eyelids fall into your
cheeks. Right now there are people dead: broken clavicles,
love lost in a hiccup, an augmented sigh. Everything tastes
metallic. Everything tastes. There’s a six-wagon pileup
at the Kansas River crossing & this I know: your head weighs
nine pounds. Your larynx is worth seven hugs. I want to read
you the book I just wrote on the back of your tongue. I wrote
the phrase bump & grind 37 times. Right now I want to take
my pants off while you whistle at the sun. I want to watch
the dead wake up, say Just kidding, you know?(Gregory Sherl.)
