Hook mouthed; a cadaver turns to kiss me—
Danny—adrift through skin, grabs
my filament of fishing line, pulling back
to bloom. He wears a lesion,
maybe three, dark and almost blued
to midnight, tells me it’s a birthmark
I’ve forgotten. The dream is 1986—
when death was stored in a dimpled
bottle, amethyst, scented, Halston Z-14
in every cabinet. I wake, find myself
poolside with shadows of old friends.
Gifts of age creep pockets—cock rings,
magnifier wipes, phones programmed
with reminders. Tired of survival,
dried like air cured cod, I flee Danny’s
pancake-hidden lesions, step into the afternoon.
Timeless scrotum by the pool, I swim
in yet another hour, outdoor showers and cabana
crypts. Lounging, friends and I are varicose,
a clot of sixties, seventies, a murder
of anniversaries breaking loose
and traveling to the heart. Time repeats,
a second AM/PM pillbox. I’m losing them.
I’m losing them all, again.
Robert Carr
Robert Carr is the author of Amaranth, published by Indolent Books, and two full-length collections published by 3: A Taos Press – The Unbuttoned Eye and The Heavy of Human Clouds. His poetry appears in many journals and magazines, including the Greensboro Review, the Massachusetts Review, and Shenandoah. Forthcoming collections include Phallus Sprouting Leaves, winner of the 2024 Rane Arroyo Chapbook Series, Seven Kitchens Press; and Blue Memento, from Lily Poetry Review Books. Additional information can be found at robertcarr.org
