Cowboy mouth

Understand this, in July
I had nothing but pain
In my chest and the idea
That I wanted to fight for myself.
Never encircled but always circling
The body between silver rings of smoke.

It’s so hard to be alive
These days, all my questions
Come with friends, words spent
Flaming towards brotherhood,
Bruising towards conflict –
There are seas of the self
And so many words for rain.

I’m always cowboy mouthed,
Always tattooed orchids
On skinheads with hearts
Made of nylon duffel bag.
Sometimes traffic lights

Fill a red room, disco balls
Bloom in the mirror
Of a glowing fish shoal
Like spitting mercury.
Where’s it all going?

The leather coats, salt winds
And snow drifts, dirty Hyundais
Stacked like cairns along a
Gloaming street, the smell
Of acrylic paint coming
Through the TV

And so much grief
For all the dead.
I say it with a moon
Turning at my neck,
Sliding frames across
A window, wooden doors
To keep a heart close by.

So this time I’m not biting
My fingernails, because
I’ve got puppy teeth
And the ragged edges
Of my hands look like the
Turning space of speech.
Bite marks outline
The shape of a name,
The ocean I carried

Across the wave grass
Of damp cotton sheets,
Where dusk coats the walls
And the petrichor of your dream
Is close like the edge of a coin,
A story you told or sang instead
– futures spilling towards an end.