Cratylus

You woke me up again. Cratylus.

Even with beeswax stuffed in my ear.

I could hear you howling

into the bathroom mirror. There there Cratylus.

Words can’t hurt anymore.

It would have been a beautiful night

otherwise. The sky. Our carbonated etcetera.

The sky scooped into your flashing pupils.

The monosyllabic sky. Opening its mouth

as self-incrimination.

You must’ve been frightened

when you opened the faucet and

night came pouring out. You didn’t think

it could get any weirder

than water. And now

here we are. With every faucet running. The stars getting stuck in the drain.

It’s gonna be okay. At first I thought my body was a dragon. Then

a tomb. Then a way of speaking. Now. Sitting here. Next to you.

It is only an opening. You have even begun dancing. Getting each vowel

to undulate into one vibrating river. Oh yes Cratylus

everything is on fire. You were right all along. You’re going to have to do

a lot more dancing. To see from up here. First. My body was a crisis. Then

an enigma. Then a liability. Now it is a brief encyclopedia. If you’re confused

Cratylus try saying it back to yourself in a palsied accent. So that each spasm

is a word turned inside out. So that knowledge is a dyskinetic hand

quickening against your cheek.

So that when you say

your name. Nobody will understand.

Oh Cratylus. Please.

No more crying.

No more faucets. No more bathroom

mirror. Pull each star

from the drain

and know. I can only

help by watching.