13 Theorems Against A Certainty 1. Black the blood out. Shuffle some certainty until the color of you’s back. I break ways I never thought can. 2. Bleary but still stopped in some solution. A called out commitment that then silences. Bleachers that butcher the summer. 3. The shit I stepped in, that since has been rubbed out. To claim for yourself the skin of another, where I’ve never been. Ghost is a jealousy, & rain shatters. 4. Seed settles there, is the air but also is thicker than brick. What cold was before you knew what it was to be cold. Is calling when deaf ears ring their own sound. 5. Less the painkiller and more the pinprick. Generating cloud, not talking longer against telephone coil. Small noises trip the static filter. 6. A machine that makes decisions for me. No sweat, or the surrender after such long campaigning. For the French the night comes somewhat smaller. 7. Wait for tomorrow to erase the grain of today’s itch. How to love a thing when it’s reeling out, taut lines across oceans break. Life preservers drift, netting nothing. 8. The jilt that comes from uncertainty, all the money spent on solutions. Chilled homes that bleed the couches red, hold the body’s death another day. Gift the desperation sent via parcel post. 9. Blurred, too, or at least a failure to frame. Silences made out of distances made out of memories made out of longing. Made out means something else did. 10.Piling on, sleep spackles my nights but won’t hold the walls up. Picking apart the carcass, as animals aim their eyes through the night’s pitch. Wet grate slips the motive’s traction. 11.What tilt withdrawal brings to every floor I wanted to stand on, finally falling. There are no children for the dogs, and so they go off roaming for leftover grist. Fenced in, we feel somehow comforted knowing there’s no more going. 12.Blink away what light, words drown out what sound, fingers burn whatever they touch. Build a boundary from the circle’s clutch, but fuck up enough to intersect another’s shadow. One line to tie the self inside. 13.And then, in the glow of grace, string your thoughts through another’s gifts, count the words you tape to walls, wear the will out until all you’ve got left’s a shoebox full of shit, none of it to suppose its own birth but what once was love and now is lone. Then slow the mouths down until they speak too low to mean.