The Capitulates

Look, just because I am- fat kid
With girls name does not mean

I want to be entered. What’s so carnal
about rising on falls? The ripping of back

on nylon red smell as I struggle
to breathe/collapse under the weight

Of his pelvis; His bicep pulse; His syllables
carve; “Trust me. It was you or him.”

So if someone had to will to die to try
to sway tempt ledge eat pins and tent,

grind teeth, me, as flesh breathes-
He melts down my neck yes- rolled-

swirled herds of cranberries which cure
memories as time fumes brine coaxing out

what little tears I could hold in-
He pulls nylon from the butter of throat

His eyes no longer scrape and hiss His nails
no longer cover lips or lenses in

“It’s not your fault. It was you or him.”
I turn over pull up my pants open my eyes

blank, squeezing strap my tongue / bed
look what we have here Look! At the dying of boy

the travail of conduction; a causeway on the mountain
where breath blurts for someone to take it back.

There are no constellations as I watch him die slowly
My __other was safer when he couldn’t hear.