The Pressing Bodies of Over-Dark

The Pressing Bodies of Over-Dark
by James Diaz
I held the steadfast
blood trickle
call me anyday
I'm not blind
and empty like you said
things change
but not hometowns
every hole in the wall
is still there
collecting moonlight
in its small tunnel of plaster
fake out kisses near the highway store
one hand under your sweater
we could be starlings
stupid and no good
did you hear they moved this town skyward
and november reeked of chem trails
and saturday front porch parties
sad skin touching sad
dissapearing friends
your mascara
running
from the cops
how did we not die
of course it'll never be the same
we died, surely- it was snowing
you were pantless and looking for your keys
we opened the mouth of god
our fingertips skulled the great wide dark
the world went to our head, our hips
sweaty, the last thing I remember
is you turning into a pure white cloud
and all that rain
all that beautiful rain.
James Diaz is the author of This Someone I Call Stranger (Indolent Books, 2018). He is founding Editor of the literary arts & music mag Anti-Heroin Chic. His work has appeared most recently in Occulum and Philosophical Idiot. He lives in upstate NY and occasionally tweets @diaz_james.
Image by Gabriele Diwald, found on Flickr.