this is Rome

Where are all the gods
  where are the liberators
      staring up & it’s staring back
        emotionless fucking fervor
  like the sky is pacified
       I need your arms
       I won’t lie [but]
       |tongue tied you are

     my favorite masochist
     we’re a faint dynamic
     of equal bodies & equal hearts
     rivalling experience like a video game
     counting trophies

    One
    TWO
    a hundred thousand
 |   paralleled. |

     I would ask where were you
     but I know I did that already
     I know I did that
     Constantly and
     I’m not keeping track or looking
     back behind me tallying bodies yet
   
     old songs recite in my head
     recite| sing
     sing well

–LM

Potoo Bird’s Call

Life is easy when you’re carefree
                      that childhood innocence
                            is l o s t
                            on me
Save; I will say I am not unique
               like all children I thought I knew
                                                  everything
                        Dad warned me not to grow
                           Up too fast but
                                   [I never had a choice
                                                             in that]

                                 I am not a poor-me-one
  I write my sadness sweet as licorice but
                                    you don’t owe me one
                  in fact you’ve already given me
                                 the priceless trinket of
                                             [expulsion| or
                                         a kind of exorcism]

                           Reading me can be brutal
                                   I
                                Know

I know
I swear
I know

–LM

[Authors Note: xxxxxxxXXXXXxxxxxx]

4AM Train

A generation of trauma

Near misses
Full on hits
and
the impact
is enormous

A generation of lovesickness

Reaching out
into some sort of abyss
preaching praise &
dividing secrets

At dawn’s infancy burning
yawning caverns of loss
smelling of sugar, cigarettes
and citrus

Yearning for respite
searching for perfection
[the passage of escape]
Be it smoke, drink, blade
A generation of trauma

& the train
bellows

–LM

(Photo by 

Matthew Malkiewicz)

Witness

I’ve always been taught to
survive by any means necessary
but the efficacy of that jab
hasn’t been sufficently tested
on people like me

So I’ll stay indoors
& remain ashore/ indeed,
masks strapped to earth’s
decadent carousel

You need a body to experience
this circuit circus comprised
of crayon colors and politics

I’d have to say more than once
I’ve contemplated tearing my ticket

But I’ve got to live with it

–LM

(Authors Note: everything is going wrong)