Mermaid
is not here yet.
I wait and disassemble
a cradle for its rackets and screws.
Yesterday,
mermaid pulled naked pearls from her jewelry — shook off the sand,
the moon recovers in a blackout.
We undressed at a terrible part of day
cats sifting through trash outside.
Without bravery I waited
as mermaid went sidewalk swimming later.
What I want from you, mermaid,
is a stolen misdemeanor, a bargain joke
enough of your time to not feel vacant.
Your name at the end of a sentence.
You’ve yet to see
sidewalks rumbling with trusted diamonds
the hawking silicon sky —
they’ll all give you a mansion-wide spiderweb.
If only lightning could come tonight
and show everything.
I have to ask —
what have you done with the dust, mermaid? That
which you swept off of me?
Did you bury that in the cracks with your feet?
You ARRIVE,
I let you in —
a silence deep as a trench
engaging the walls, the plants, every moment I spent waiting
splitended into the now you call out for me.
I wish I was not here.
No love song goes this song, mermaid,
the whole street level is a lie
the dirtied elements you brought to me a farce.
Mermaid,
I would freedive just
to scribble incoherently symbols
if that would keep you in. Let you swim
where you cannot refuse the relevance.
Every moment hardens. There is no swell.
April [5/15]
ericryangrant.com 