Neither of Us Can Be Gatsby

Line along the synthesizer
cycle, pulling pieces from threads
taking a train to Eden–too fast.

Splintered diamond mines
chipping along the mountain
ranges, with more to come

and go. There’s no lessons
learned under the low-grasping
clouds, bones in the shed taken

from kids clawing through night,
each rib a mausoleum, finer
things… So we’re just workers

underground, too, pulling from love,
I know exactly what I’m doing–
The more he comes, the more

he goes, it’s a whisper in pine
needles. Searching the greens,
we feel through a jaded thistle

rained upon with boulders bigger
than the both of us, bigger than
your train of the past, steady thump

of forest-covered arteries searching
every night for some earth-fueled
way to make the ghosts condense…

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