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the half of me you held was     the dark radar feeling through the blur     of how we are now electric     that one time you tangled into me

like the slaughter of an animal in water     turning the screws out of the hinges     as the darkness of death reveals     itself as freedom

i should have pulled the choir closer     peeling my mouth out of the fire     let the night pitch its threat     all the way through me

& the naked dream of skin     wasn’t about the skin but the holding     that lunges like lunar bells through me     —the constant closeness of chaos     the day dragging me by the hell of my heels     into its awful furnace

i try to remember i will forget you     & tell you it’s as if we’ve never met     pulling the harm of your arms into my heart     & our sweet plea for one moment of peace     —that secret form of sleeping

it’s this endless conversation     in the middle of our conversions     bound by the relentless element of exhaustion

but i have a forehead ranged of evil     wind-filled grooves where the memories were removed     & the obscured autonomy of that deleted history     —i complain though i could never conceal you

there could be nothing more normal     than our mouths     nothing more normal than—     nothing as terrifying as an outcome     the perfunctory allegiance we slave to
i will have to lie my way into deadlines     force the stubborn distance into something     greater than distance

i keep asking myself how i surrender

so easily
every day the night comes?


Scott Jacobs lives in Massachusetts. His work has appeared in Word Riot, A5Q, jubilat, Souvenir, and Incessant Pipe.

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