Tagged: edge

at the very edge

at the very edge
of sleep, yeses and noes meet,
promise to be more

or less transparent, break bread
with the maybes that show up


on the edge of san

on the edge of san
, love splits,
and splits again,
a perfectly
imperfect aim

one rarely feels

forty-three hours have

forty-three hours have
passed since we lost you. i hide
the details
from my-

self, don’t get too close to the
edges for fear of falling

on the edge of daylight

on the edge of daylight
saving, i am mostly
awake, lodged in
the trilateration of
past, present, and
future, in search
of a fourth
time. i experiment
with pouring tea – a cup
in present-past is at once
cooler than a cup in
present-future. i
experiment with the
newly nesting thoughts
of you – and arrive
and arrive again at
unknown coordinates

for fear of being

for fear of being
terrified, i make
small waves, swim
away from the edge
and back, as though i could
possibly get the hang
of it, run directly into
indiscretions for a touch
of normalcy, a stretch of
and still,
i amass all
the words in my
throat so that
they have to choose
whether to be
or benign. i smile
and say all the important
things because they cover
up other important things,
i pirouette when poked,
try not to make more
friends than i have to

you are awake in

you are awake in
the middle of the
night, hanging onto
the edge of my
dreams, searching.
you said i keep
touching your cheek,
feeling for a face
that may or may not
have been your
face. i asked if
i said anything.
you said i was
speaking in a
foreign language
again. il n’y a pas plus
sourd que celui qui
ne veut pas entendre