After Choking You in My Sleep
the dead must be hungry
the way they present themselves
to me – hat in hand
hollow legs
shrinking then wrapping
the corners as if embarrassed
I would be too
all that work to be dead
and still begging
not that I’m any safer here
stairs are one of the most
haunted places on Earth. I
could be sitting in a portal
or in the body
of something larger
someone’s work or unrequited love
a prison, the defense
of a choke-point
whatever it is, I feel its interest
it shakes my insides as if
listening for seed
it lands on me when
I’m not careful
forms to vacancies like
an owl to the tree
like your voice to my ear
when I’m sure you’re lying
or is it, when I’m sure
I would have lied
the agent contains it
all this stuck energy
all these dreams of fame
turned malevolent humility
power, rage, depravity
it keeps us down
long after
we have died
inside lurks
the cold black mass
of ever losing you
especially to me