FOUND IN A TEXT I SENT MY GIRLFRIEND ABOUT MY DREAMING
In Fredonia, New York
there is a synthe lynched above us apologizing
to moon for taking its place.
I am caught at the corner of a loveseat,
a Seneca pressed between my lips. He leans
over my lap to light the end,
says he is staying all week-
Jamestown is about an hour south
plus snowfall has blurred the sky like locusts.
drop D, right?, someone asks from across
the room, fiddling with a guitar like a loose tooth
but before I can answer there is lighter
taunting my face-- a glittery cove
Groaning with hunger.
When he’ll rise towards in the kitchen sink.
I imagine him drowning a daughter we never had,
and tell me,
would the sink have been already full with cutlery
or would he empty it, run the water
then fold the laundry?
Full of piss, did youknow, yells the kid with the guitar,
Lake Erie was pronounced dead in the 70s--
Cigarette ash dribbles at my heels
with the wind still crying on Day Street.
Like the skin
of an orange,
I peel myself from the pillow
where it is as though
I've been dreaming
usually smiling at my bedside
is now a spectacle --a public hanging,
swollen as a fat curd.
It caught my eye
each sad mouth
and how once quenched
became thirsty as
a dried apricot.
molting its own flesh--
the thought of leaving one's body
in order to become full again.
I ask myself:
is it really
Watching yourself die?
I reach for a watering can
In which to
deliver the carcass so heavy with grit,
sagging with pity.
I find it empty but
seething like a copper oven.
Levi Distaso is a 23-year-old poet living in San Diego, California. He has received a B.A. in English from the University of New York at Fredonia. This is his first publication.