"last known whereabouts"
as if it were really possible by jake kilroy.

come up for air like an uppercut
just to fall in love with an old scar—
roasting your heart over a former flame,
forgetting what it's like to lose footing,
becoming more enamored by ruins than temples,
driving through a night thicker than guinness,
making it home just before dawn cracks its first tooth,
spending all day on the floor, waiting for the world to get bored,
blowing out the neon lights of a dusty small town,
wishing for all things to get better without the work,
so you crack your wrists and count anything as something.

rotate those knuckles like farm equipment
with a matchbook weaving between scratches
as if a phone number could present itself
as a hologram after enough spins to dizzy you;
you on yet another couch, unable to recall bed,
more familiar with napping at your desk—
hail ennui, the rotting carcass of a mythical beast.

snore as your nerves hungrily creep through your childhood home,
wild ivy with a pulse, able to see the breaths between school years,
clawed nails digging into the wallpaper your mother chose,
a color pattern you recognize as your asylum flag;
your mirrorless reflection without source,
a ghost without a life before it.
come now, come now, this tomb has always been here—
you just didn't believe in its purpose, brave tyro.
yes, yes, in this, your most sacred of earth crashes,
all you can recall are birdsongs
and even then mostly choruses.
welcome home.