#We wrote this, remember? ~ by Bread and Rosey

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earnest bridge
#

*isn't it easy to skip
once, twice
double -
hopscotch on
the rocks slips down so
easily
with exactly three ice cubes
and stirred thirteen times.

Bottoms up, and down
the slide we go -
you go, while I watch
slightly quivering
at how high we are
above the ground,

you hardly even
let out a breath
let alone a sound,
when you
disappeared
until you teleported
to the shaved rubber
on the ground -

safe,
surely it's
safe here,
in this fenced in
area where children
recess together.

Somewhere,
behind the sand pit,
away from the watchful eyes
that set springs off to tussle,
a bush'd garden
stands.*

#

*Greenery redrawn from memory
escapes grasps of dreamful hunters:
branches left hanging,
pruned -
dethatched from grounds
upon which trials begin.

Beneath,
beyond the shrubbery,
a chicken wire split,
collapsed into itself,
forming a miraculous
vortex of sharp patterns.
Pills flow down the pipe
as a singular decision
reawakes my hearing.

Say, didn't the mirror once
observe a feeble temple?
To follow the hall of objectively
influential bases means
to regain
what once

lost

The path opens into darkness.*

#

*Detachment
by a verdict
that is neither mine
nor the reaping
of what I have sowed.

Your seeds of doubt
are what bloom
after decades
of deciding between
the fate laid before me
and the desires you instilled
into my feeble mind before
it was ever developed.

My bed was never made,
but the pillow in your casket
was fluffed - white satin
so pristine I could nearly
equate it with the purity
of angels toting around
their thirty pound harps.

Surely that's comforting,
a creature made of eyes
and cosmic energy
carrying around some strings
on wood like that would somehow
make them more relatable
through a shared bond of music.

Would modern angels
carry cassette tapes
to announce their arrival?*

#

*Or would the same old trumpets
blow the air of change,
eloquently announcing
failure?
Our... failure?
Failure to pursue the unsinkable,
to notate the unthinkable;
failure to present thoughts
in reality's light,
failure of organs-

Lost in the glass,
half empty or half whatever,
I recall those words you said.
It was just a paraphrase,
a slip of proverbial tongue,
yet engraved in the stone
that is now my mind,
there it is.

I've made this bed.
Or what's left of it anyway-,
I built this.
Rather failed to, probably.
And when midnight comes
and I'm all weary...

I might just pull an all-nighter again.*

#

*It's much easier
to face the stars
than that ear-splitting
trill of birdsong,
or the knowledge of knowing
everyone else is also
awake - alert, possibly
watching me from afar.

Dredges of the last beer,
with notes of cappuccino
followed by a lingering taste
of unresolved fears,
oh my darling little dear -
I miss you. What you called me,
when I would get angry at how long
you could talk about nothing
of value, shattered glass
is only beautiful when
you live near the sea.

I've seen many a moment
broken into hearts
on sleeves and eyes
filled with moissanite.

You were meant to be different.*

#

*And as the world turns silent
and the stars burn out,
a single thing keeps me warm.
Not memory of childhood,
nor future-telling crows,
nor proofs overruled -
but the cold embrace
of a muddied bed.
A single flame to form a flower,
cradled into dusk.

We stood here before,
in front of the hole in this
fence. Yet still, you held
the makeshift sword
beneath your ego.

Almost forcibly, the
green igloo opened to
form a threefold melody -
the madrigal of ancient modernity
perplexed us...

And in bafflement, you ran.
And I was left alone in this
embarrassed ambiguity,
hopefully insignificant.*

#

*It was never insignificant -
the memory of you with your back to me...

you didn't so much as glance
towards me.

I never looked back,
not at the repaired chain-links
or how your footprints
were so small
compared to mine.

Your wrists were
always so...
fragile -

bones criss-cross
applesauce like your
legs on the floor
before you feel
backwards,

cracking
knuckles to
fend off the little
bits of anxiety
your father
gifted you –*

#

*you grew out of it,
fast.
Even as time stood
still, you managed
to reform in clarity
Spring blooms; to
blossom with pride,
to carry onward a
grave movement of
joy,
of..
calm?

or

maybe

pain?

its absence?

Shrieking in abundance.
Always to part, never to
settle with contempt for
the past lives. Living in
livid lucidity lingers like
posthuman traffic - from
combustion wrongfully
synthesized to neglect
personified, things always
anger indecent silhouettes.*

#

*Made from mirrors
and the smoke you
rolled your eyes at,

a vice is still a problem
when shopping bags
scatter across rugs
into lily pads of designer
shawls with tags
still attached.

I'm still attached
to you - us -
the reality that
wasn't based
in our present
but rather
past projections
of perfected conversation
above two glasses of red wine
and over-priced silver spoons.

One date to fall
head over heels,
teeth into tongue
and lips pressed
against cheek,

you still

walked away

without a goodbye
or second glance.*

#

*Tell me.
Tell me that you are still
the person you were;
the incredible, introspective
inescapable presence of
unending life.
The poison of ambrosia,
the drifting of the wind.
You wanted to kill me, and
yet destroyed naught but
the past.
Shrubbery stands still, awaiting
our return to play.
It feels like bordering insanity
to think that repeating the make-believe
would deform status quo into a bland, fragile
glass of a singular projection. Even when the
sun didn't expect to shine, the sharpness of razors,
the destructive pages, remained still. Snipping at the
bars to fail at expectation, escaping the grasp of
any watchful eye simply wasn't enough anymore.

Alas,

the machine beeps in silence.*

#

--

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Fin.

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@vast orbit i decided we're done with this because we both seem to be neglecting it enough

earnest bridge
#

We wrote this, remember? ~ by Bread and Rosey

hollow fogBOT
#

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slim widget
#

There are some serious moments of beauty in this piece; too many to for me to call out favorite lines for extraction and feel like I'm being fair to the piece. I think you and Rosey should consider more collaborations.

earnest bridge
#

Maybe even more

viral gust
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I absolutely did not write this

earnest bridge
uncut bane
#

Holy shit I finally got around to reading your poems again

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And a collab

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Good shit Loaf