two into one

by essayan hart

i dont sleep well these days. i miss my friend.

the place where people can become art
together
always exists
but time is a shifting landscape
not linear
just

removing us from context
endlessly
so the moment tilts
away from us

for example
if you hadn’t started learning guitar that week
and if i wasn’t wandering aimless
i never would have sung my death
against your busy hands

the birth of years, that moment
the birth of strangers crying on subway platforms
the birth of an ageless sound
of captives, and repairing wings

you told me later that i was too passionate
broke my heart against your beating strings

you were the lantern
carrying my voice through
deep unknowns
i carried through you
ancient things

now you paint yourself as
a cliche
ever the artist
but now choosing greys and browns
glossy magazine covers
a success of some kind

you bore yourself
and marvel at the way ive stayed alone
eventually you no longer call
and i weep lost melodies
with a loud heart

i dont sleep well these days. i miss my friend.

the rooster crow of our tired voices
the sanity of new york
choking us black
over coffee

your endless residences
each one a project
the dollhouse
and the small wooden tombs

for years you slept on a plank
cinder blocks
three shirts hung, hand-me-downs
from my dead father
on a dressing rack
and a pyramid of dollar bills
on your floor

we never called
i still refused to own a phone back then
and you were a vanishing act
i carried sidewalk chalk
left arrows
left hours
and seldom any indication of place
you would arrive with two cups of coffee
sushi for a friend
an errand to run

before our descent
you kidnapped my lovers
force-fed them books
left me holding your instrument
on our little stage

left me holding your instrument
i guess thats the point

the place where people can become art
together
always exists
but time is a shifting landscape
not linear
and
in all of my seeking since
i have never stumbled
so accidentally
two
into
one

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