He Knew All The Words

Now I know
my blindness.
I won’t go
without help.
Stumbling down
Twenty-third
the wrong state
of mind skews
souls from the
wrong counties.
Brooklyn’s kings
abdicate.
Queens’ queens lie.

I’ve never
lied to you.
I’ve only
marked spaces
between us
with noises.
Weightlessness
infiltrates.
This crush of
loneliness
penetrates.

Fine. I lied.

The sounds of air cross time
In poems or sighs
Nathan types, his periods emphatic
And his immature voice
Raised by song.

Everything hurts eventually.
It always did, but later
We realize and admit it.

Autumn is the purest tonic.

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