Stop the bus
stopping the bus, don’t ask me
to lose you like the light in autumn, steadily and slowly
feeling each tone. Then. /a curtain/
The bus is going on and on and oh, don’t…
1947 will never be the same without you if you
swallow our love because nothing else sticks
in your throat.
“No, no,” you said. I laughed.
But the bus screeched at me when the phone rang rang / I ran
echoes of what we were, then, then and
the lies are coming to get us, a net that only one of us
escapes – “colours lie to me” – colours lie.
Don’t ask me to stop, the bus will run over
everything (did I love you hard? Don’t ask
Questions, question Answers, keep the ghosts
under love and key. Love me under
lonely keys [will keep them out].
Throw yourself out of my scene? Throw your shell out to
the fishes, to the fixes but/// the bug/// has wiped
Us clean, like polished nails, like polished nails we pierce
your skin. NO MORE.
The bus stopping but I
said no. I said keep your papery hand where I can see / keep your
papery heart where I can be. If my heart beats it beats me up, stop
the bus, stop the bus. Stop. The. Bus. Stop.
Doors open and chest caves.