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by Brad Trumpfheller nothing worth saying stays still long enough to say it : moons moon & giggle while whole flocks of eye-statements cartwheel into whatever city signifies this second, which it will never mean again, not even now. now is the word we use to forgive ourselves for the future. instead of air, say airing. how you looked after you piano-keyed my arching. & wouldn’t the stars starry that way. & wouldn’t the science of it screech : taxing & pyramidic : snap-bracelet shuddering. & wasn’t that the water of it. you husked & yesterdayed. instead of loss, say every day we are moving closer to when getting out of bed seems possible. instead of draw the curtains, curtain up. drawn into fielding. never say heaven unless you mean the past tense of to heave. as in i am heaven towards what, in our old tongues bumbled with noise & stations of scam-crosses, we might have called each other : which i now know only as the distance between the coin lids your eyes decaded into & how you neolithic’d a grammar : bluet esque : & how this rivering you unbecame beloved into.  Brad Trumpfheller is a writer & bookseller living in Boston. Their work has appeared in or is forthcoming from The Nation, Colorado Review, TYPO, Indiana Review, West Branch, and elsewhere. They tweet @bradtrumpfh.
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