Fight in August – Cash Compson

August 13, 2023

Things I Would Say Aloud if We Were Alone Together on the 2 Train in the Early A.M.

 

I was dressed up by the

river tonight. Waddup. Last

time I drank Rosé 

I pissed the town

to sleep. Why is 

your sister the most

beautiful? Because she

looks so much like you. 

I miss having a best 

friend. I haven’t slept

since I picked up

the phone & that was

after letting it ring and ring the 

whole time it took

to watch all the movies

my phone makes out of 

all my faceless, personless pictures. All

of them. That’s

me performing. Someone

took my lithium. Anything

I do is precious. My

mother said I’d be

everything & now I’m

a pothead. I never

sleep. One day I’ll

become clean. Until

then I’m with you.

 

 

Dream #114

 

Awash in your

rouge. Quiet,

but for fireworks & my

town sleeping. You have no town

& I’m so jealous.

 

You came from somewhere. I 

came from here. I have so much

to give. I have MRSA still, glistening

like a trophy. Keep it under my

other wrist to share, but just

with you. These lines

 

came to me when we

knew not of a love for

anyone real. Still naked,

wordless pasture on our

halo. Now they

are less than what this

is: 

 

You brought me a dew-

soaked hill from somewhere else. 

Fell asleep in someone’s 

lake, but born in your grass. We 

wave like flags at everyone

just rising. Tithing with your

spit, walking away with 

your words & the sermon that’s

evaporated almost fully into wetness.

 

I keep drifting

& you have nothing

else here. Where are you

looking off to, past me? Don’t 

show me. I haven’t even

started to dream the lines,

the ones about your 

rouge. To be 

awash in your timelessness.

 

 

July

 

I am swimming 

in the pool 

because we were 

outside & 

summer comes only 

a handful of 

times in a short 

life & i 

am so hot &

not drunk yet

& your eyes are

green in the

sun, fairy-like &

autotuned when

i do it & get out &

drink all our wine 

outside, blonde &

your shoulders cook &

you lay there

& smile the way

you do when

I’m staring at 

you & not reading

a page of 

the newspaper in

my hands. When

your mother

goes inside I

will get up &

kiss you, you

know this.

i am somewhere

like the sun, 

not close enough. I 

used to always

be high, now i’m

not, i’m on you

all morning, find me.

On the TV: w/out 

her: Forrest ran when

Jenny left & i 

think it was

because there wasn’t

any home, not anymore;

i get that: without

you i would

burn my house &

become a different

man—running, being 

who i dreamt of

as a child, someone

stable who does not think, 

until i’m tired

until I say

 i think I’ll

go home now:

Utah clay broiling;

something alien when

i’m begging you, someone

else’s sanctuary, finally. Run, motherfucker. Run.