the disposal of glamor

the disposal of glamor
by meghan tennison
we tuned up our body clocks
to purple meadows and bumble bees
your graveyard was warmer than my hands
it was a fun boat ride; the ladders creaked and
your head fell off every time you sneezed
promise never to apologize in front of love ’cause
it will catch on fire (i used to dream of drowning
in a flower’s mouth)
mix-matching ideals can disintegrate a garden of strangers
right down to their bones
when the moon hangs so close to our heads like a
glowing bar sign or crack light, i notice how
your knees tremble and
melt
grizzly called saying he had found your hair and strawberry scars,
still boiling and fresh in the grass, but
his hunger was more important (knowledge-torture always comes second)
and i’m glad –
his teeth don’t deserve to mourn over lost birds
anymore
“we need to replace ourselves sometimes.”
well, mountains don’t reclaim their sand or
shovel their skin flakes back into their caved mouths and only
alcoholic veterans beg the shops for a new liver, so
i would gladly shed my wool,
spit into your heart’s dumpster, and
apologize.