Logan Compau, Fiver October Afternoons, Dismantled

1
The parchment conflicts we tried to record
created harsh blood flow galaxies but mended park benches
near bus stops we’ve forgotten use us for continuous beauty
why then am I afraid of ripples in a puddle?

2
I bruised the moon while reaching towards you
The window seemed to be closer to the ground at first
but it’s hard to tell how badly I pierced my tongue on the rock in your shoe
This must be what limbo feels like

3
The pavement became dismantled storybooks
and the space between then and the silence now is harsh
To dip the inks I feel I need to walk in
I like to think these bus stops became thunderclaps to account for their loss

4
The absence of light decayed the voices I heard through the walls
though I continued to write on the chairs headrest so you’d feel them
the infant snowfall outside sent me a letter
saying dawn was too late to ask for a kinder cloud formation

5
We haven’t left your rug for hours
I forget which one of us turned off the fearful stares down the hall
I know that my bruised canvas burst in so awkwardly
but just keep painting until we smell of sunlight

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