TALL IN THIS ROOM
I asked the internet to hold me together.
Maybe it wants to talk feminism
or the occult sometime. Maybe it prays
to be noticed too. Burnt orange
& lonely, a wild spread of cards.
Look him in the cheekbone it says,
all six feet of him romantic as a garbage
chute. I threw a dart skyward. I put
a hole in the sun. Nothing in nor out—
just light for the sake of lacking it,
a votive for the end of love, one gold
paramour dredging the ocean.