What I Want is to Honor the Keeper of My Shadow

— Golden Shovel after Alejandra Pizarnik’s ‘Names and Shapes’

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Another day, steepled hands. Exactly what

Liminal jambs scarred my knees so bad, I

Can barely use them to speak to my want,

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What could be sadder? What is sadder is

A mouthful of January, craving cold, to

Edge against the names and shapes of honor.

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Leave your heart where it used to be. The

Shadow rides an iron horse of complicity, keeper

Of the saddle, made of roses, broken bones, of

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Loose mystery, of pale moon mystery, of my

Mystery, Paul. The moon is a mirror ball, a shadow,

The moon is a mirror, Paul. The moon is mere ball, the

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Mystery reminds bartenders to say you’re the one

Who pours out a gravesite like another round, who

Pulls a tombstone everywhere he goes, who draws

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You closer to whisper ‘Suck it and see.’ Names

The patterns birds make across a sky, and

In the clouds, he swears there are shapes

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like words falling out of your face spelling out

The world is full of scorpions, of serpents, full of

Nowhere, full of night, full of now, full of nothing.