by Jay Artemis Hull
My beloved and I share a movie in the living room.
The man on the screen states “I have not lost my faith.”
as he prepares to die. After it ends, we talk suicide–
it feels inevitable these days, to talk.
But here, to be honest for once, to take it cosmic–
philosophies of honoring the bead of the moment,
or vast oceans, or the hypothesis that they’re the same.
Safety plans made this late would be better called
damage control. Slash and burn fire prevention.
I know I've been cold. Turning away from care
and snapping at questions. Wish I could say
I wasn’t aware of what I was doing. I'm sorry, I think.
Just so tired in the way that turns everything off.
As if closing my eyes to the light will let me sleep.
My dreams these days are fragmented and cruel.
I’m in bed, my partner crying to the phone; I wake
to screams outside the office door; I’m with friends
who are slowly dying by hemlock; I’m in bed.
I can see the cell tower blinking through the blinds.
That must mean this is reality. Waking
with chamomile tea instead of the usual Earl Grey
as an attempt to attain some semblance of calm
in hopes my jaw will unclench enough to drink it.
A walk in the morning mist, sending notes
via songs added the secret playlist.
There are more paintings in the crosswalks,
dandelion and clover this time. Keeping an eye
on the blink of the cell tower, just in case.
If I can see the skyline, I can find my way home.
Jay Artemis Hull is an occult experience consisting mostly of love, longing and library facts.
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