Speaking of Oblivion

Lately you’re an echo
a diamond cell-phone ring
jazzing Miles Davis
or simply static
Lately you’re unspoken

a sudden burnt-out light bulb
bed-bound in my basement,
below the voice of someone else

the mattress springs
the dent from your body
air waving with rhythmic
exhalations of h and s – “history”
you said

I’m still wondering what currency
skin is sold in
whether I should don
the classic hair-hooded stare

please don’t stare back
the weather channel’s a rainy morgue
there are zeros to describe
your misspelled Ariel font 10:
“displeasure” I read at 5am, 6am, read
at dawn
in my room where no one was speaking

Maybe insomnia is instant coffee
steaming through the window seams
or variations of myself
window-lit darkness
painted glass

a cheekbone impression
printed on the pillow (guess who)
consonants you staccatoed in my ears
angular as alien eyes
vowels smooth
as scented skin you wear so well

this morning would make you tipsy
would light us up like neurons
sky nauseously blue
with vodka blows (ah...)

“I don’t give a shit” you said “what shade of pink it is”
well I hate the sky too (let us dance,
dear) this is a jazz
mellow enough to jade us

this is a sky shut off by curtains
eyes waking elsewhere
what shadows have made of me

what lamplight
locks the lips and windows
which wires still whisper
no one’s quiet breath no more