The Germans, the loud Germans. I could never fuck a German. My nightmares are of guttural vowels, an intolerable hungry blondness. Beyond the high school, I dipped a jam jar in the spidery creek. All poetics is hunger.
All names are one thirst.
And we fish drink of this same gulf all our lives. In the glow of heatlamps or fireflies, let us meet by the pool, and flicker. We are the questions they cannot answer. We are the answers they refuse to believe. Plan your life around these barebone moments, honest silences as deep as marrow, full of minerals.