Fasten fragments dug up

           only just reborn from dirt

                      which conjures a phone

           screening a text two thousand

years late, originally built on the face of

           a thumb anointed in the bed of sweet ink

                      approximating moonwet years in regress

           from where you continue adding

day to day, casually eloping at convenience

           stores to search for a fragility resembling

                      life before subscribing to self

           mythologizing LRT commute routes

where you cease to understand

           company in favor of a starpunctured city.

                      Fumble open scarce remainders of your past

           living regret in unsent postcards

unmended drafts

           unused sticker palettes

                      never meeting their own shadow; elsewhere

           deposited in an emptying couch

covered in soot or sweatvapor or cum

           are anonymous hair strands

                      barely registering as something akin to a neutrino.

           Fear or despair serves no practical

purpose in your mistaken eternity

           walking into another collapsible year

                      head held low, hoping

           bus fares remain fixed

and procession breaks you

           out of the adamant landscape

                      a holdingbody of anatomy

           gluing you to your rust.

With Herodotus failing,

           you dislodge records

                      let time go into what

           dead poets cried as forever

(he keeps failing) you

           snap out to your actual phone

                      screening an actual text

            “how are you feeling?”

carry me home 

           your job is to deal with the dead

                      never having really lived

           decay grows into decay

confront Sappho on promises of remembrance:

           condemned to papyrus she speaks severed

                      half-truths decreated as a candle

           skinning off Elektra.

Hold dirt up to the sky and see it remain stupid.