e. v. noechel |
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Concentration and Inhalation
From Museum Mundane
(May Cause Death Without Warning) I push them into place, notebooks full of words constructed through classes where I wait for the bell that brings me here. You're always quiet but it's like I smell you behind me, a scent like chocolate without sugar and I want to huff carburetor fluid with you, hear the crackle in my head of burning brain cells, (not caring not caring) smirking at the label--may cause death without warning. (hum in my head like not caring not caring) until I feel the grind of edges, the ugly concrete against my soft damp skin. Take another hit and it all disappears. Or else I think I'd like black candles and small gestures messy trysts like the smell of old ashes and grass down your pants. But here it's just pages and letters so I watch you go to trig without books and I shut my locker against the falling notebooks and words slipping softly between my fingers. |
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