Member Poem

Yellow fields
Sounded foreign in my mouth,
When I dreamt of crocodile carved in bone
I guess I knew how real it wasn’t
That time, anyway

Lies construct themselves sometimes,
Out of curiosity
Maybe like
Our astral projection
Do you remember?
If I made that one up?

Us I
Mean

That time
Your tired hand ran
Through mulberry straws
When the light was gone and everything was pale
And the silence was warm
With my right ear on your left lung?

Did I build your fingertips
As your prints grazed my eyelash?
Before your palm firmly cradled my skull?

I couldn’t have
Right?

It must have been real
Even though the strands are all blurred
The outlines faded and frayed
Committed to memory
Even though it might not be one

I built this consciousness
For us
But
You don’t want to move in
And now
I have to live here without you

Lately
I’ve pretended
I’ve just been waiting for you to come home

To this place you’ve never lived
I’m telling you
Its perfect
I’m telling you.