Brian Turner
The curve of her hip where I’d lay my head,
that’s what I’m thinking of now, her fingersgone slow through my hair on a blue dayten thousand miles off in the future somewhere, where the beer is so cold it sweats in your hand,cool as her kissing you with crushed ice,her tongue wet with blackberry and melon. That’s what I’m thinking of now.
Because I’m all out of adrenaline,all out of smoking incendiaries. Somewhere deep in the landscape of the brain,under the skull’s blue curving dome—that’s where I am now, swayingin a hammock by the water’s edgeas soldiers laugh and play volleyballjust down the beach, while others tanand talk with the nurses who bring pillsto help them sleep. And if this is crazy,then let this be my sanatorium,let the doctors walk among us heremarking their charts as they will. I have a lover with hair that fallslike autumn leaves on my skin. Water that rolls in smooth and coolas anesthesia. Birds that carry all my bullets into the barrel of the sun.