out here, in there

the cattle in my backyard
and the quartz on the hill
fail to inspire you

the rabbit warrens
are wind tunnels
for the anxiety
that keeps me
taking in too much
air

between eroticism
and earnest conversations
is the face that I keep holding
so close to the surface of my skin
that you mistook it for my own

and sometimes I do too

out here
the stars are less pretencious
and futher out of reach
reality is
a reminder
that this country
could kill you
if you forgot the words
or sang the wrong songs

meanwhile
the cities heartbeat
eclipses the distant burning
huddling in pubs
forgetting
why we don't want
to go home