hors

i’m a transplant

that’s it.

hors d’oeuvres at the brewery
knew that night,

for whatever reason put on my dress shoes

escalating whispers to you things i can't remember

wound up in your apartment

something not part of the ordinary set of courses in a meal

the pinging of aluminium crutches 

your leg was completely fucked.

where steel arthroscopes jabbed around

unaware of pain / in caves

pins were hammered ligaments

were cranked in by screws
threaded through bones

i softly kissed the incisions

the exact spot

snow fell,
i was moved
shit, i had to walk by your place to get home

i left footprints

and footprints
on the sidewalks

by your door.

come spring

i got pressed

into soil

cuddling up next to my bedroom wall
walls painted lemon pudding yellow, as awful as the day you'd first seen them

the one you zig zagged with your iron ring

plaster gouges i will still consider in good light when i lie on my left side,

listening to you shift in the bath

talking shit, angry

for a couple hours

hand on my dick

eventually, you drained it

the water glugging down

the pipes

in glugs