can we hope to feel weightless again

under the scorn of mothers storm clouds

 

mother as gravity

mother as love

mother as the great tides of the moon

 

can we hitch a ride on a mayfly

the sweat from our hands slowly disintegrating his delicate wings

until we collapse to the floor

shaking and sweating

 

the foil breaks each time i need an answer

the bottle is drained each time i have a question

 

each night i hope i never come back here

but by tomorrow i will beg to be let back in

beg you to open the saloon doors and let me crawl

through the spit and the sawdust

 

to get to the bar and order one more shot of you

to burn my throat on your lies

to feel you mix in my stomach

mingle with the mercury inside me

 

then its a hundred degrees

and we are as nude as the news

 

the foil pops

the bottle is drained

 

the next morning i woke with a spider in my mouth

its legs were flailing wildly, tickling my gums

i spat it down the sink and looked in the mirror

 

anything to feel weightless again