Alexis Cohen & Christopher Fraga
Your eyes remind me of origami:
the simple collapse of things
I crease my skin to become
II. FLUID MOTION
A gas station: neon hearts
flashing for $1.89/gal. Something lost
left behind in a dirty bathroom.
And we searching in the oil stains
around us drawing
shapes and faces with our fingers.
III. INERTIA (Pt. I)
There was that time, when we were supposed to bond
over fishing and fried chicken. But nothing was biting
so we skipped our bones over the water and I felt
like I was standing so close to the edge. That I just might fall off and
float for a while until my head shows up
in a museum in Paris.
IV. STRING THEORY
Like those fish with dead eyes
we knew our own jars
resting in formaldehyde and old memories
like spit, the sad hum
of pulling apart. A tickle,
When I didn't make it,
I called it circumstance, but to you
it was my inability to see
how there's something to be said
about a man who can cry
during sad movies.
VI. INERTIA (Pt. II)
It's all over the news: how she broke
down and cut her own hands off. She used
a paring knife, they say.
I was too young.
Too young to understand they thought
I was suddenly missing a mother.
VII. PARTICLE ACCELERATION
After meeting we couldn't slow down, couldn't stop and it left us
finally in a conversation where we couldn't understand each other's
Reverse: the foot off the pedal,
the lunging of the heart, its inevitable
collapsed weight in the cavity. Laughter.