who do you think we are
we’re all of us warm,
doomed little torches;
or bitches, depending
on the day's cosmological demeanor.
under the covers we’re alive, though
falling to the pavement we’re alive, though
taking our hits at scrimmage we're alive, though
hurl us through the windshield; we live!
with blackened eyes, yeah
and uneven laughter.
but here comes the sun again,
elephantine footfall in the hallway
our daughter bursts out of her room in the morning
like a force of nature.
count the days if you want.
an arbitrary number, our living days
you (dear) give off warmth in waves
I can feel the waves, almost peristaltic
your biological life
the cellular processes make warmth
it comes off you under the covers in waves
machined and purposeful
when my mom passed the heat left her by degrees
what’s the hurry.
the big soup tureen hastily reclaims our ingredients
this is not a vacation
but a slinky running down the stairs
spend caloric heat as we burn down
alright alright already
burn down through all the days
we scarcely take notice of them
in 200 years or less
we will never have been here.
yeah yeah so we lie here in the morning
burning down and radiant
burning down and down to nothing
skin changing, eyes changing
telomeres work their dissolution.
thermodynamics will preserve our stuff
but not this hour of lounging under covers.
this long hour transparent as a neutrino.
it's really all we’ve got,
more than enough.
it's much much more than the Big Bang owes us.
I hope you remembered
to make the coffee last night.