irwin g.

aren't your eyelids just terrible; blandishment and
underscores on the thick skin? oh, but don't worry,
i'm still your friend. isn't your jawbone just heavy
and isn't that the very first mix-tape of your toothy
grin? irwin g., i've read your poems overnight and
slipped my small fingers in between the chalky paper,
marking the pages where you left me notes:

-alexandra, your younger sister, purchased this book
on october 7th, 2005, scant hours before your birthday.
-i catch you watching me when you don't mean to be;
i catch little bits of purple glass murdering out of your
lovelorn violet-eyes. i keep them in an apocryphal jar.
-some dots and semicircles on the back pages of this
book match up perfectly with some freckles on the
back of your hand. you wonder when i had a chance
to study them, no? well, sometimes i watch you back.

irwin g., i always catch you watching me back; your gifts
and letters are a dusty black moth brushing tasteless wings
over my mouth. brush past me, alan, baby; why so jaded?