Sextant
I killed an unkillable plant
which reminded me of you
so I sent you a postcard with
a midnight festival of backlit trees
how’s life on the road?
I asked, knowing
you would only receive it
upon your return
on tour means something so different
to a musician or soldier
just like sleight of hand
to a magician or thief
I imagined you on stage
banging a cymbal
seeing yourself
as a symbol in sweat
I remembered you
back in your studio
your turpentine tirade
your slow-sipped gimlet
gulping riboflavin supplements, giggling
as I roasted your vegan beefcake bandmate
was I your stalwart
or your warts and all?
why can’t I forget the softness
of your underjaw
a back-alley uppercut away
from dislocated vertebrae
or the silent killer of your electric engine
tesla coiling my central nervous system
or your compass eyes disorienting
the sextant of my wayward body?
maybe I’m an anagram
of a word that doesn’t exist yet
maybe you’re a superposition
existing in multiple states until measured
one of these days I’ll be delivered
from evil by some holy postie
and you’ll be left with a mark
of unknown provenance
like a bruise you don’t remember
being hurt for