Tell Me In The Streets

missing is honest.

a week ago,

only miles away

we were
untravelable.

after cataclysm,

we sat down
across my table
[strategically];

acknowledging
our broken
infrastructure.

having only
been
dismantled
of boredom
and spite,

we decide
to rebuild.

climbing down
into the
rubble pit
of us,

two hoarders
sorting through
desolate pieces

kept “just in case
we’ll need this
one day.”

how did we get
this
bad?

you asked me if
i could really
leave here

like
“here” was
a pronoun.

our voices,
tools

to craft
the words
we have
been unable

to do

with
our own
bare hands.

“which can
we reuse?

repair?

throw-out?”

we re-wrote
instructions
on how to us.

you announced
your leave
of absence

with a space
| |

and
i imagined
filling
it’s blanks.

my mind
spilled out
my eyes

about how
the streets
are less
alive in

no possibility
of glimpsing you
drive by

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