he does not know the new hum in the sky

in my possession
has been the disposition
of an old drunken man
since i was a southern girl of five

perhaps i’ve traveled too long

my high heel collection is ancient

certain i was there
when
caesar’s sliced body
was set ablaze in the forum

present in the tepee
where pocahontas lost
her budding virginity

saw lincoln slouch in his chair
as blood and hair
flew over the balcony

but the image that haunts my bones
the reason my soul will always drink
was that sunny april morning
on the deck of the orizaba

hart throwing his leg over the rail
his eyes full of cutty sark
and the cum filled memories
of his thirty sailors

beaten bruised
screaming

the sad indian

“Goodbye, everybody!”

as he vaulted into the sea

my face twisting into the shape
of an unnecessarily brutal horror

but somehow
wishing for his sake
it was
his precious bridge
from which
he was falling