#adam wulfmeyer

[wulfmeyer]

Saturday, April 26th, 2014

I didn't want to go out last night.

But did anyway.

"I'm excited that you're coming out with me tonight," you said, over the phone.

This morning when you called, my voice was so disfigured

you told me, "I'll call you back later, okay?"

These moments of halcyon undress, the domestic

rays of sun cutting dog fur and airborne dust.

It's future antiquity: time doesn't respond to my whimpers.

We were drunk when you looked up at me and we almost kissed.

I was glad when you only rubbed your nose against mine. 

This is building.

Flush with beer I sat with you standing behind me,

your arm draped over my left shoulder as I held onto your wrist. 

Is this love?

The dirty punks spun into holistic ecstasy.

No one knows why they're dancing. 

[wulfmeyer]

Father Poem

An account of desire that reaches into my fabric like calloused or accumulated tissue in the heart of a human intersection.

My arm is north and shoulder, pointed and locked, unable to reach in the atmosphere by which desire is reaching.

I'm straining, unsolicited, to a counter flooded  with chilled black coffee. Plain, however fortunate.

My father speaks volumes upon the world by which my intersection is submerged in neutron bomb fables

my day was dusty and unsolicited thank you for asking, this shoulder pointed incessantly in the crook of your monologue

and loneliness. This life, arrived.

I say hello, keep my jacket on.

It's cold in here though my teeth touch cricketing in the receiver, wavering absentia. My father speaks volumes about live Jimi Hendrix CDs.

This is safely navigates day fables uncomfortable in their tenderness like a newly severed limb,

lapping chilled coffee off a black countertop, smoking.