chemistry

there's a pile of shovels
next to a couple
of gas cans
outside a school.

and infinity looks good to me.

your face is sculpted butter;
a saturated fat.
you contain no double bonds
comprised of only singles.
your structure packs in
tightly.
stacks and stacks.

who knew poetry
could make such
accurate
connections.

X

these places are mirrors,
the same but different.
separated by an invisible reflective shield.
perhaps they're isomers
or anomers.
both rural highways;
concrete rivers in the middle
of a vast forest.
except one's surrounded by plains,
the other by mountains.
all i see is flat marsh and river,
all he sees is snowy inclining slopes
and tree barriers.

it makes me fucking sick.

- -

i guess i'm like a tree
my leaves falling off for winter.
like mica, pieces slowly breaking off
at the tip of a finger print.
or like many-layered baked brie
brittle, crumbling-

i can feel essence of essentials
being sliced off
piece by piece
fluttering to the floor in a flakey fashion.
like old skin cells and just as dead

dissolve me with a drop of spit.