by Harrison Parks

she wears black tees emblazoned with slogans--
'lie down i think i love you,' and other
callings for our lips to tease and play-- 
coy expressions; one is a challenge to hurry up &

get in her past. bright minds like hers inevitably
burn through people to find truth in flame.
gladly, i am kindling for her fire's mise en place.
no regrets--save that we don't trick ourselves

as many can to prolong it. though i am no
stranger to cynics, somehow i cannot yet
relegate her and me to that quick inferno;
we burn through a city; through sister cities;

fuck, we consume nations.

all the tricks one needs to be led to
paradise are in her repertoire. it has been a day
or two and she already is a second sight.
unlike most, she masters every sense.

we both need little affirmation. obviously,
this time-frame speaks to foolishness but
instinct quickly knows where it ought,
needs to be led. forces of nature fall into place

without dawdling. the words marked here
i can postpone so she won't know of them
until marks of time or bruises she leaves ebb
away fear. we incubate. soon is soon enough.

soon is eternally far away; soon is the future
that has become our muse. we are consumed by soon
and burn sacrifices from her admirers; though i am
her chief admirer and i shall always burn brighter.

someday, men may topple her monuments.
these words remain eternal.

Read more from Harrison in his ongoing project The Banter Ship

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