We demystify the evening over enough
rum to get to the core of everything
confessions tussle to a numb draw

We are flightless – mid-air
so close we could speak to each other in sleep
I look into you – undecide a time or two

Release matters into the night   
you’ve got that look that ties up my lies
and all my ends are loose




I imagine this: a kiss that turns into capitulation

I imagine the taste of acceleration in her lips
with each movement, she sheds music
if she aches she aches for nightfall

I imagine a slow looping road to her body
the unction of her breathings
every man looks to her for fire I imagine
the wash of mutual arson upon us
her recovering old lovers mumble at the bar
”Put a paper umbrella in it, buddy,
and send for the firing squad”

I imagine my own murmur over her quickening
words that will not raise to a whisper
She may stake her claim on me in any language
but she sleeps she sleeps sleeps like an island
Her eyes pull me in with no apostrophe
no ceremony no teetering edge



Maurice R. Turcotte gets his money for developing software, but writes poetry in the gift economy. Also in the gift economy, he manages which showcases poets who have published their first full length book. When not working in Atlanta, he can be found with his bride, perched on the edge of Lookout Mountain, outside of Chattanooga.