Halo Benders (Jittery Joes Edit)

We were always so musical in the way that we did things

Listening to the sound of each others' heartbeats

And trying to play them back to each other in
a way that felt most biomechanically

natural

Blowing wind through our wrists like harmonicas

Bowing our tendons like violin strings

Making music from marrow

Song from sinew

Every so often the notes would drop and fade (pianissimo)

and it was ok because the crescendo would pick back up altogether (fortissimo)
Reconstructing the blueprint of our bass

But even the best laid plans of pianos come undone

The last time the chord struck
Sour over the telephone pole

I knew you were tired

And I was tired too

Trying to drop life

Into suicide eyes

It all just wanted to die

Hang itself from the chain of memory

Crack its neck on the headboard

Land in a bed of mushrooms

Hoping their fungal fingers would break apart

this abomination into something useful

The mercy of mycelia

Looking for redemption in the soil

No longer in angels' wings

No longer trying to jump through halos

Because we kept bending them into prison bars

To hold each other as POWs
In the war we waged against the coming truth

When the flood came we bent our bars into dams

Because we feared the inundation

We didn't want our banks to overflow

And spill out the mouth of the Earth

I don't want to be your Ark.
I cannot carry life.

I don't want to be your Noah.
I cannot build life.

All I can manage is the whale
That will swallow you whole.

But you are far from Jonah.

You are not divinely called
To step into my sea.

It hurt so good sometimes.

To know we weren't numb.

That we could feel the tension

Of each other trying to bend our halos back into compasses.

Pointing in the direction of stars.

They miss us you know?

The way we laid star-crossed among the clouds keeping each other warm

In their radioactive furnaces

Suspended there in the dark waiting for a wish to grant.
A hope to provide.

But instead we are resigned.

They hang ashamed in the sky.

Waiting for someone's hope to catapult them into
Shooting stars

We aren't that different.

You, Me, the stars, and their prophecies.

When it comes down to what we need most deeply.

It is our wish to be fulfilled.