April 21

Past Tension


When we say the same thing at the same time the world
turns inside-out like a glove. I was walking
and the rain was covering my face in little kisses.
I pictured you and I pictured your hands, talking
inscrutably through a magical telephone.
Your fingers were made of electricity and the curled
cord, both at once. I wanted to be alone.
Instead I came to the apartment of whoever this is.
She reminds me, to put it bluntly, of your mother
if she were horribly, devastatingly, unclever.
I have stared microscope-close at your palms and they have never
been pixelated; I can't even separate
her individual hairs from one another,
but I don't need to when I masturbate.