Regrets
I regret knowing what time it’s ever been, I regret
not painting Not The Bathroom on your white
walls in big indigo letters, I regret the feint
of leaning in in that death by snake landscape
that was collage, I regret all kinds of nothings
little beautiful timidities I don’t long-view regret
it was a they, we added up, you have to give people
the space you didn’t know how to take, you don’t
you’re a sorting mechanism, you’re not actually
all slime, you’re a very fierce frail piece of guy
supposedly you didn’t turn around the last time
dad said goodbye, who needs to notice, you being
yourself don’t quite work your shit out loud
enough for the novelistic everyfucks, sunny
helmet kiss on forearm, light repulsion, at deep
night I come all over the courtly pre-imagined
my interest in desperation lies only in that
sometimes I find myself having become
desperate, I know ghosts, they’re being ordered
about, fucked as ever by limitation, a book
the size of your fingers told me to force it so
so I say a damned thing, with love crushed to
bring out flavor, your look at me way keeps feeling
space filled with massive non-participation, then
bodies force you to appear to measure out the
exacting space to not die in, or be non-dead already