Chase Scene

at night you stumble, dreaming
cross-eyed of a chase scene
three yellow wasps on your chest
the city you turned around in
a chase that quickly lands into a fight

the nagging anxiety of a stain somewhere
a tickle at the back of the throat
a song’s bridge playing over and over in the head
maybe the stain is at the bottom of your lung
maybe this white crusting along the edge of the bed

I lay an icepack on your head
one of the old ones that look like a lazy waterdrop
unable to pop, I’m waiting for a more complete
courage, a peeled orange, a halogen lamp

believe it or not, we’re recreating someone
from the 19th century’s sin, by proceeding
mounted on the edge of our bed like
a permanent display, matching burdens
to caramels

the thin plant over the dresser is belonging here
you picture yourself with pedals removed
and ask why you were not born gracious
I do a different dance in the same mirror

in the ultra-rendering of these buildings
I could snap my fingers
and every window would close
an accordion we accompany.