happening in a small room, in the back
of an empty building, at the center of Denver,
leaving a sloppy recognition on my face
standing in a room at night with my other self,
a spatial moment of recollection and reflection
astride in my walk leading me to a large city,
forgetting a star dream of mothers
who search longingly for their desperate sons
turning my head weeping, covering my eyes
from all past midnight skies and colors carving out mesas
remembering days of stolen celestial memories,
and persistent confessions
lost among conversation, and the smell
of nicotine on the fingers, falling into a differential
phase of lunar refraction, a plate glass scattering
about the floor, an irretrievable feeling of mist still
lingering as fragments and sickness
raining a few days ago, and leaving the streets,
an exuding marauds of displaced recluse stars
rendering a meld of structure into an ocular madness
and compromises the wills of prevailing sinners
attempting to coexist in a space as two bodies
after leaving this gathering of bodies and exiting
the building, forgetting about flailing my desires
walking the streets of this glistening city
discovering myself staring at another ceiling
of luminescent stars trailing back to me
a concealing constellation where I await the discovery
of another bed not meant for sleeping but for traveling
– alone
seemingly shell shocked not for the sake of war
but for the chance of meeting anyone in a meaningless
face where everyone is standing ever closer,
as cigarette smoke in the night sky