Jupiter ((selected lines))
Carrie Rudzinski

It’s somewhere between three am and dares big enough to throw boys off the roofs of
—–buildings
and Jupiter spins mumbled words in my direction that sound an awful like:
—–- you’re a terrible soul sometimes -
We’re hunched spines smashed between tiled floor and
phone calls we don’t talk about anymore
pretending we don’t hold onto each other in the dark
...
that love is this really scary concept
that you can only hurt other people with.
...
I can’t help but think
maybe love is just muscle memory:
a body next to a body
you just react
how you learned the first time
the way you felt laying next to a pair of lungs,
As if stars were birthdays
and years were the silence experienced in the embrace of the person you currently miss
—–the most.
...
But Jupiter’s not always breathing
just spinning
letters into words
about the night we met
two souls heavy eyed into each other’s clavicles
right where the bone dips and lifts
our spines wrapped around the lost luggage counter
our suitcases falling in love.
...
There’s a reason they pull your wisdom teeth out
when you’re too young to believe
trying to reverse what the apple taught Eve to see.
Mark each tumor with red tape
We rip scabs
to be forgotten
and forget
so we can wake up with bruises
and not remember what we broke ourselves for
...
A package of lies self addressed and left on the front porch
of dictionaries
...

ash @ 10:26 AM