Mind milked and matter, benign.
I sit in my car for the umpteenth time.
Brake, ignition, seatbelt, destination, pressing your name to call you in your kitchen—
wait.

I sink.
I have heart static and mouth sounds to pour into your listen,
but your ears are no longer here.
Mind milked and matter, benign;
ashes on my shelf soon to melt into
sea.

Sea.
Sea.
See there’s nothing here to
see.

Your god confidant told me not to question my ability to still speak to you so
I electrocute my burgeoning tears into vapor
and wonder what I would say
if you were here—
wait.

I never get past ‘I miss you’ before I’m tsunami-ed into incapacity so
I straighten my spine, swallow my soften
and wonder what I would say
if you never left.

I went to drag queen bingo with Gwenda and her friends last night. It was fun and I think I could like them but it’s tough to know without any space to talk between the numbers. They invited me bowling on Tuesday. I think I’ll go and then try the talking.
Even without the talking, you would have loved the bingo.
One queen was wearing a houndstooth dress like your Gantos piece from the 80s.
And there was a ninety-year-old regular named Carol wearing a bedazzled tracksuit like the one Aunt Jennie gave me.When you come to visit—
wait.

When you come to visit, I’ll take you there.
And to the Santa Monica pier.
And the flea market.
And the fish market.
And the spice market.
And Santa Barbara.
And the beach.
And that store on Rodeo Drive where you and Jim bought that $20 art deco plate. Remember it used to hang in the dining room with all the other paintings of nude ladies?
And you wonder how I’m gay!
And maybe you can help me with my apartment?
I still can’t figure out what to do with that dumb wall-mounted mirror over the fireplace.
But you have the eye, so what do you think?
And please don’t say contact paper—
wait.

Say contact paper.
Please.
Please
say contact paper.
What I would give to hear you say
contact paper.