Poem: It's Not Like I Believe And | Poetry | Hudson Valley | Chronogram Magazine
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Poem: It's Not Like I Believe And 

my heart feels like a wave that never crashes and it’s really not okay but i am trying hard to remember that all flesh is grass. remember it like i remember the first time i heard “ghosts.” not the ones that sit in the corners of rooms and just watch and watch me, but the song. though both kinds sing, loud and quiet. i was in a cement walled room and my heart was pregnant and bleeding. she sang it over and over because that’s how i played it. she sang, we died and then we woke up hungry. our selves stayed up in our heads and then flew right over everything else alive.
i miss you like death.
yes i think i know that song and i really do want to listen but i want to die more. he’s asleep in the bed and i’m on the floor cause i like it here and i think i wish you were near me because you make me feel like who i am, good or evil, peaceful or a wild rumpus, margot, brod, the sky opening, the ghosts that broke your heart before i met you, whatever.
i miss your heart like a million pounds of concrete pouring.
all flesh is grass.
all flesh is grass.
all flesh is grass.
my heart is the forest and the wilderness is good and perfect.
the flesh is grass.
but no.
i miss you like a nightmare-eaten child whimpering in its sleep.
how do you entice infinity? please, i can take it, i was made for it.
it is a thing in a room you cannot call for, its already there, like the song, like the devil waiting and waiting. 5:25 am, 5:36 am, 5:39.
“i used to eat your breath” you said, and just like that, i was removed. flesh is not, was never really grass and the wilderness is just gods metaphor for what my insides feel like, looking quiet but feeling loud. who can breathe me now? i move. and who eats up my wilderness now? do as done, there’s nothing else left to be but here.

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