Illustration by Tom Kitchen

Over hands gripped and shaking as friends knot smiles,

Over the DJ away with the vibe removing a can to hear a

wreckhead’s scream,

Over the girl dancing with closed eyes and a glass of

something and cola in her hand,

Over the sofa with the sleeping, shirtless, young

stallion hard toned and pale,

With his admirer’s cheek upon the cold brass buckle of

his belt,

Over her bare feet tied tight with patience,

Over the kitchen where a thirst is rabidly shaking

glass and tin,

Over the mathematician reaching a total, a subtraction

and a hallway negotiation,

Over the guy sucking fresh air in a cigarette breeze,

Over the new age chick collecting beer can rings from

the piss soaked soil,

Over the potential in the bathroom dissipating while

tendencies rise,

Over the broken promises slumped to the floor under the

cracked sink,

Over the guru reticent in the lost art of the war,

Over the kitchen hands and waiters that just now

finished their shifts,

Over three white lines cut up fine on a book of the so

called poetics of space,

Over two lesbians arguing as their third and benign,

Is mingling amongst the bedroom’s hungry, inviting, and

widening eyes,

Over you who I promised to take home more than an hour

before,

Over all this and between us in the unconquerable

distance,

Golden glitter falls and white vertical lights reach

ceiling to floor,

Almost gold you reach for my hand with white heat

between fingers and silver on tongue to say,

“It’s time.”

—

“Memento Mori”, Matt Kirby

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