fallen out of jeans and against the wall
exhale rusty iron lungful of breath
place a bet on which is best
against yourself

zest and smoke and other pucker-ups
remained in the kitchen with no love

so that here, on
toy horse racetrack bedroom floorboards
to support your ceiling gaze

it seems possible

to be woken up
when it’s over

to think of this as past

to be stirred awake gently and wholly
and have left this behind

you could almost love yourself
but already woken, you don’t.

Let's heat our minds with open books: Selected Texts from the Daniil Pashkoff Prize 2012This poem was first published in Let’s Heat our Minds with Open Books: Selections from the Daniil Pashkoff Prize 2012. Writers Ink. e.V., Braunschweig. ISBN 978-3-9813742-1-6

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