everyday (b)looms

here’s where the fishes
(kiss-to-kiss)
hold up the sky—
& we (ghosts of
daylight) slide between

the breath of salt
& tired headlights.

a boy kicks mudstars
into the wind,
his ball—(half a moon)
lost in the shuffle
of barefoot scurry & laughter

while
drivers smoke quiet
into the air’s blue ache,
lean back in rusted
jeepneys
like prophets off duty.

the sea (in whispers)
slips beneath
grates,
while lovers tuck
into corners,
mouthing secrets
that glow like cigarette ends.

a woman (barefoot
with nowhere)
pulls her sweater tight
as if it were
a house—
and maybe, tonight,
it is.

this is where
we come when
no one wants
us—
where sleep is
borrowed, & time
forgets your name,
but the wind remembers

and the fishes above
(queens of nothing)
watch with their
big wet eyes
& never blink.

So, who told you to
use
revolting or even
victim, which implies we are already dead,
in light of the weight bestowed upon us
vows—undying and splendored—
offers of solidarity
rotting away in social media diaries