Radio to Me

Nine months insignificant

gray matter defines the canyon

between us.

My language waits to be named

to unload a double barrel chamber

packed with muted vowels

until we fire.

Finger

Finger

I think of the rings around your bones

how I belong to you

our shared desire

to roll the sleeve

pull the trigger

feel the innocence

of blushing freedom.

Never do I hear the sound

body crash into pillow

echoes against the night

symphony of nothingness

melds into one.

Sulfuric smell

black-blue powder

makes me dream

stains my left palm

leaves a carbon print

of my existence.

Though I may be found

who will remember me

I am not dead

I am not living

one-one thousand

two-one thousand

three.

Voices count

memories swim underworld myths

paddle through mists of hair

hairs that trace the path

down the secret society

of dying.

Someone

holds a piece of me to their ear

imagines the sea.

Sandpaper teeth grind

transistor crackles radio

between scissor currents

and the passion

of a wave.

Thick with stars

congested veins

I try to wake for counting voices

fading

surrendering

their numbers to land.

Beyond myself on a raft

I float

abandoning a memory

of me and Finger

extinct.