poem: vainglory

as one forgettable moment he was instead boxed up
and carried into the currents of many
weeks, in which the fear of first love
had me swept like a rag along
the Mormon suburban streets,
at dusk, my heart at cardio-tempo,
what if what if what — he is a rebound, I am
wicked. the quickness kept the
nothingness carried along, the box dragged down
through memory: two weeks, two flirts
two drinks and nothing else. now, the vast
naked rise on someone else’s legs, commanding
entirely 2/3 squares of the couch. the abstracted,
internet summer where unmet emotion was not
outlet, still haunts: now, unpeeling, the relief
of the feeling as outline, the interior
rotted or simply, placidly — blown away.