Steph Bruzon

by S. Bruzon

a night out of the expected,

someone who tends to my ailments,
buildings on fire with laughter,
the night is a flame,

however you choose to need me–
however,
you choose.

I give you what remains: my toolbox of
blues, soaken silver shoes
that walk on water and
hover over Earth oh
let me hover over you and

live a little
longer than I’m used to
giving birth to

songs in silence–I don’t believe in time and still, it never ends

a dock
in the dark in the sand
by the water, a raccoon
mother
and family.

Don’t talk,
I hear what you’re telling me.

I’ve never been looked at
like
this
before–

to stay still can’t cure
how you have opened me.

And you have opened me,
tires burnt out.
Apocalyptic, really—

asphalt-soaked rubber floor,
left alone, run away and after it.

So what if the land explodes
and takes us swiftly?

I’ll be glad we were together,
even briefly.

I gather my possessions neatly
and scatter them on the floor
before
you

help

help

me
never knew you
were the dog to flee

help me.

If only we would all scream brazenly to each other across bodies of water

the kind of certainty that only an animal could offer

cigarette in your mouth that we pass back and forth like a CPR of sorts you give me such freedom that I forget I must protect myself

………………………………………..

A MAN INTERRUPTS US

……………………………………….
what we thought was a shotgun in his hand
was a subconscious
recalibration
makes us proclaim
our
brewing
love
in
reference to a God above
and if there is one,
if there is one,

we should keep going
until we know.

And when the past begins to show,
don’t give it away.
Deal me your worst–

let it walk behind us
stalk behind us
talk behind us.

We have known such truth
in the timid time
we have spent–

the certainty we feel could turn an animal on its head.