I will sit on the cinder blocks of the bygone industrial
rather than balance on a metal beam because
although I could make it to the concrete platform (easy)
I’ve gotta be in Houston tomorrow night and
I don’t want you to have to miss me after two months
of waiting to see me.
I don’t want to miss you,
while bandaged and tetanus needled after falling
seven feet into glass bottles with rank drops of alcohol,
in blackberry bushes all thorns no berries, and a spent pillow stained
with brown from drool and invisible semen, then tumble
down the embankment
into the grave(l) of the Willamette’s beach.
Because I am in Portland and tomorrow night
I want to be in your arms in College Station
I will refrain.
I won’t balance across the beam, placing my purple-striped
purple shoes with dazzling white laces gingerly
just to heave myself up onto concrete and avoid the butts of
All to just stand tall and breathe in the gray sky, gray almost-blue-green river,
and this city.