In memory of Kim Jonghyun
The moon is Listerine tonight,
the electric blue and the shock
of that light shooting down my spine
reminds me of you.
I kiss the bruise tender between sleep and poetry;
Slowly, a long sharp tusk of silence
lends itself floating –
father told a story
of Koschei the deathless,
wove his death through a needle eye,
stuck fast in a duck’s skin,
made flotsam of a foreign body
everything is illusive.
Senses are no longer