your narrative & my narrative go back behind the house
& just have it out for once. one lunges with a shiv, the

lunged at pulls it into place. they know the choreography
of their tiny marriage, their good time war. i understand

the shape of it: we don’t read the same articles, don’t
consider the same things knowledge, don’t believe in

the same god in the same way. i get it. we know little
similar, sure, how good it is to finally pee, the smell

of a fresh cut lemon, the feeling of making it home
alive. now, if i am trying to avoid you to stay alive

& you are trying to avoid me to stay alive, is that not
the definition of something? all this blood & still no truce.

my american twin, we’ve done this for years
you run around scared of the idea of me, i run away

from your actual body with your actual instruments
of my end: badge, bullet, post, gas, rope, opinions.

you have murdered me for centuries & still i fix
my mouth to say love is possible. it is. it is? if you

came to my door thirsty, i’d turn the faucet & fill
the glass. if i come to you, don’t shoot.


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