Over, here

Your boyfriend humps      the room with his jokes he is a skilled

belittler      you look bored or else I am dreaming

 

                                    wilting over here with the chips in their salty

bowl

 

your status is excruciatingly      prepositional      you are with

your boyfriend you are behind your boyfriend you are to the left of your boyfriend      you

charge the room      my hands are static

a TV show about space tuned one channel too far      or not far enough

 

                                                            and I am fiddling the stereo to lamentations

with a beat, I do not want to kill the party      I want to make my hungering aural      while you

eat a carrot      stick

a beer       in your other hand, crunch crunch

 

and suddenly you      are next to me    the low ceiling hung with globes of vaguely Chinese

lanterns             somehow contains you

but I have swallowed a Pluto of wrongness      not even a planet      anymore

 

and I start narrativising      my afternoon of parking meters       so I went to hunt a dollar down?

and when I got back someone had gifted me their windshield slip it still had time on it      people

are actually good I think mostly     you know     

on the inside

 

                                                (I actually say this) oh what      space junk comes out of my

mouth      asteroids of fool      play it cool      I can't

ever      you

                      

                  are good on the inside      all gold leaf and good water frozen in moon–rocks      and

starship enterprise charters noble in their interplanetary peace intentions      I can tell just by

watching you walk

 

                                                (this, however      I do not say)