for Neil
Sorry, we cannot meet:
there are two lines that cannot intersect
like us, and I dodged the bullet, and the
collapse of our quantum wave functions.
Thanks Schrödinger – there are people
I never met, cannot meet, will be unfazed
to see in other timelines.
How I did break my ankle,
or your date, or what we could
have not ever destroyed.
i recall a lot where there can be
no return – everyone’s an American
Idiot; where i am just young, bare in
accepting boyhood. i cling onto Mom
for the remainder of that life, fingers
tight, gripping with the lack of futures.
on page 5: my hands in my Father’s
back pocket, the gravity of a Nokia
and the engorged snake, inching.
am here in another hotter summer.
memory-like liquid crystals. I…
+1. is the roar of a television shutting down.
i recall a lot, wanting to see Green Day
live, and so did i, a mushroomed head.
i went to the barber’s exiting with a bowl tarnished by water.
i went to the barber with vertigo;
i never fell from my Mother’s bosom.
the nokia rings. i stop touching my Dad.
water is short like the snake like the being i stopped
A ‘nice’ man is:
a nice man is…
“A nice man is”
(a nice man is)
…a nice man is,
a nice man is.
Shadows of man all over –
the floors, in the closet
I left open to exorcize him,
yet he’s out there, in your love.
But he’s no ghost, not lost
as this transparent stain
on my clothes. I can’t wash so
I do my hair, I think I’m pretty
enough to turn off the creeping
spirit, but no – he’s taken over.
Within your eyes, he came
divine, like an idol, or a bust –
all roads lead to his offerings.
I wash my skirts again, having
lost, in every manner he is gone.
Where he homes I cannot haunt,
and my girly hands fade my touch.
"My brother and my sister don't speak to me / but I don't blame them"
- James Blake, "I Never Learnt To Share" (2011)
Alternatives (Schrödinger, 1952)
are another way of saying loss:
how Little Sis cried when Mom
reconsidered her own abortion;
Big Sis forgets to miscarry Mom;
a stranger owns my blog domain.
The wrong timeline a synonym to
this poem, a symptom of anomaly.
Day 1: Throw all these words out of a window.
Day 4: The Sky remains blue, and not to be hugged.
Day 9: Pouring heart out, into sink. Peeling redness.
Day 17: Began counting despite lack of fingers.
Day 25: Began counting all hugs that were missed.
Day 31: Thinking of us Lesbians; and everyone erased.
Day 59: We failed in realizing how nothing comes to pass.
Day 100: Zeroes gaping, curved and sharp, fitting.
Day 219: What if there was no alternative? No vaccine for touch?
Day 370: Began projecting futures off the tips of raised hairs.
Day 541: I’ve tasted wet lips once, long before my lips had hangnails.
Day 712: Numbers, Skies, Zeroes, Hair on my lips and touchy, touching.
Day 713: Nights becomes taut and I didn’t even get to touch them.
Day *11: There is no longer a pandemic that failed to touch everyone.
Day 2*6*: I lost you in writing: you too, were out of the window, out of touch.
, .
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Everything was dark
when the room lights
were replaced by ifs –
what else can function
if all I do is compile
dreams? They come in
too hot, too fast loops
that defragment and
scatter all my drives:
how I overdosed on data,
strolled about the fibre,
and added and added.
Microsoft Windows [Version 10.0.17134.829]
(c) 2018 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved.
C:\Users\Lune>darken puddle
‘darken puddle’ is not recognized as an internal or external command,
operable program or batch file.
C:\Users\Lune>add tears
‘add tears’ is not recognized as an internal or external command,
operable program or batch file.
C:\Users\Lune>dose check
‘dose check’ is not recognized as an internal or external command,
operable program or batch file.
C:\Users\Lune>hot tea
‘hot tea’ is not recognized as an internal or external command,
operable program or batch file.
C:\Users\Lune>stroll room
‘stroll room’ is not recognized as an internal or external command,
operable program or batch file.
C:\Users\Lune>d:
D:\>cd Google Drive\Poetry
D:\Google Drive\Poetry>type Suiteroom_3.txt
Everything was hot:
the tea you brewed,
this flush you didn’t
notice or notice you
brewed. I’m with the
tea leaves, a bottom
too dark I sank to.
I strolled into a cup,
thinking you’d drink
from it. I’m sorry i’ve
added a dose of tears:
you weren’t eating nor
drinking well, either.
Lune L. 
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