Beat

BY EMILY HARRIS

sip midnight moonlight in mugs it’s a meteor

shower up there shower me in monochromatic

blindness i want to sit alone in a sandstorm of

my own making and learn to fly. two men fell

from the sky in the almost-dawn i woke up

today and i was almost-something. a woman

ran through strawberry fields of forever love

loving peace in a time of symphonic solitude

to a man/a woman/an almost-something

who thinks in similes. you’re as beautiful as a

bunny—but like the ones with antlers, oh

those are so mysterious aren’t they. aren’t you?

mystery is a myth how can anybody be

mysterious when we’re all just fucking human

ok i’m sorry i said anything at all. i’ll be

quiet like a mouse in a mouse trap. staked heart

beat bleeds scarlet blossoms on gas station

napkins paper thin like my pulse beneath

your fingertips—every mourning man thinks

he’s dead before he dies. cyclical i, i, i, i i

i am one, roman numeral one head

disconnected from body i i i can’t feel you

when you touch me. i think you are v, roman

numeral five, ahead of me and vitally

connected v v v i, vi, together we are more

than an almost-something, so why aren’t we

something. why aren’t we everything. it’s not a

question because i know the answer:

jackalopes don’t exist. what we have isn’t

almost-something it’s almost-nothing there’s

ravens in my ears screaming almost-never!

almost-never! nevermore! the sandstorm is

starting. i close my eyes and touch the sky.