WE ALL FALL IN LOVE WITH OUR BEST FRIENDS & THEN WE DIE LIKE THAT
i could tell you about the ocean. the big one. the one that stretched
its arms until it lapped at her feet. or the small one. in their collar-
bone. jumping like rain-water. or the park-bench. the bird-song.
the anonymous Tumblr message, answered. the poem i won
the whole season with, splattered, gulping, in the last venue
i came home to. or the accidental mimic. the knowing-your-
body-better-than-the-radio-knows-the-popular-songs.
popular just means we’ve sat hands-clasped listening
enough times that we could karaoke the chorus if
someone put a gun to our heads. i could sing you
without faltering. i know exactly what you sound
like. or watching people i love love each other.
watching two people become one snake
biting off its own tail but forgetting how
to swallow. watching love love itself.
watching her throw out another post-
card. watching him host her name
in his mouth which means her legs
onto the stage which means he’s
got dry-heat eyes & we’re gonna
drink until we look like who we
want us to be. or the flowers
shoved behind the chair. or
the car split open on the
highway. the apartment
left unlocked. the hand-
written note. the last
mouthful of coffee.
its arms until it lapped at her feet. or the small one. in their collar-
bone. jumping like rain-water. or the park-bench. the bird-song.
the anonymous Tumblr message, answered. the poem i won
the whole season with, splattered, gulping, in the last venue
i came home to. or the accidental mimic. the knowing-your-
body-better-than-the-radio-knows-the-popular-songs.
popular just means we’ve sat hands-clasped listening
enough times that we could karaoke the chorus if
someone put a gun to our heads. i could sing you
without faltering. i know exactly what you sound
like. or watching people i love love each other.
watching two people become one snake
biting off its own tail but forgetting how
to swallow. watching love love itself.
watching her throw out another post-
card. watching him host her name
in his mouth which means her legs
onto the stage which means he’s
got dry-heat eyes & we’re gonna
drink until we look like who we
want us to be. or the flowers
shoved behind the chair. or
the car split open on the
highway. the apartment
left unlocked. the hand-
written note. the last
mouthful of coffee.
L. R. Bird is a cryptid from the Jersey Shore and a belligerent transsexual criminal with a history degree. They are the author of, among other chapbooks, BLOODMUCK and INVENTION OF THE MOUTH, and want to hear about your favorite bridge: birdpoet.github.io
