Mark Mazzoli
Roll Cloud
Barking at clouds the dogs don’t remember what happened last time It is the end again Without something in front of you there is no world and nothing to wait for Hands are the most desperate part of a man What are they without holding without some foreign thing shaping them I wait for the wars that haven’t happened yet my ear to the ground anticipating footsteps
hoping for wounds to press my palms against
There’s good to gripping splitting soldiers Stopping something from opening that shouldn’t be open Whenever there is a rainstorm (which is often now) I think of war and cannot sleep knowing that every feeling has always been (a woman who couldn’t stop talking told me the limbic system never forgets) and every drop of water has always been and every invasion has always been squarely hitting the same jaw in the same opportune darkness until the dawn when everything bleeds back upwards 14