“2164”

water carrier, the one

you write songs and,

stories about,

never keep 

they stare and bark

down loutish avenues,

even in an astronaut suit 

it is naked.

you fuck yourself 

thinking of when you

filled it up just to leave

it emptier than before

you were never more

invincible than in that

mirror, staring at your

own manliness.

water carrier plays God,

attempt number three 

thousand and seven

to outsmart the disease.

truthfully, it’s not them,

for who they are is

irrelevant and unknown,

but the space

that’s what claw marks 

are for, the something

they built in the hollow 

auditorium of its ribs.

water carrier, a heart 

on its wrist to remember 

there are others who yearn

on the pale blue dot

I am not God, 

child, I can’t beat it, 

just sing to me about emptiness

and I’ll listen, I will be a friend.

M.L. February ‘25