Delicate Men

By | 13 May 2024

I wake up in the house
happy with the two men
who are sleep-creased and delicate.
They are trying out new meds.
They compare notes
and sometimes do cautious swaps.
They take it or they don’t take it.
Sometimes they double it and crash.

Our conversations consist of:
A/ unlikely animal friendships
B/ cleaning products for glass
C/ resumes written by ChatGPT.

When I change the shower-curtain
I look at the Dutch people printed on it.
The boy and the girl are always kissing.
Only the boy gets a panel of his own
on which he skates with hands folded.
What can he be looking for?

This day that opened with hopeful doses
ends with the scene of a polyester sea,
the swapped out curtain,
suspended on the clothesline
so close to the waves themselves
that we laugh watching
dazed butterflies as big as small birds
flapping across its depthless blaze.

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