From “The Laceration”

As if the tender body is. As if the will is tender

And like any creature that has its hood up, you

take a photo of yourself in front of a window, rain

so dark, the day/perspective so desired. You are so

desperate for beautiful adventure, the lights shut off

and the sweat of some hot stranger in your mouth. As if

to say “before” is to enter a house filled with teenagers

piled on top of each other. Did I tell you that it’s raining?

It’s not hard to think that it’s already night and necessary,

how any green is a wild form, and lastly, I don’t want to

inspire devotion if it means the I becomes separated from the world.

To travel into and out of place […] swift unnature of staying

becomes a frequency […] you can no longer hear, the construct

of happiness, for example, how we long for a heartbeat.

Cement lot […] aching willow tree, our bodies [before] beneath

splay, all sinew and glean, black drape and raw confidence. It’s 1986

and freedom is something inevitable, the way brown boys run

shirtless, invisible siren roaring toward a fit mouth to bit it, O

from saying lightness, from—

What is the opposite of devastation? Fruit?