Chase Scene

at night you stumble, dreaming cross-eyed of a chase scene three yellow wasps on your chest the city you turned around in a chase that quickly lands into a fight the nagging anxiety of a stain somewhere a tickle at the back of the throat a song’s bridge playing over and over in the head maybe the stain is at the bottom of your lung maybe this white crusting along the edge of the bed I lay an icepack on your head one of the old ones that look like a lazy waterdrop unable to pop, I’m waiting for a more complete courage, a peeled orange, a halogen lamp believe it or not, we’re recreating someone from the 19th century’s sin, by proceeding mounted on the edge of our bed like a permanent display, matching burdens to caramels the thin plant over the dresser is belonging here you picture yourself with pedals removed and ask why you were not born gracious I do a different dance in the same mirror in the ultra-rendering of these buildings I could snap my fingers and every window would close an accordion we accompany