by: Alex Lemon

Cricket song helps
The dead become
Being dead.
There are
Baby faces
In the turned-
Up dirt. The
Leeching wear
Of everyone’s
Stiff skin.
The crisp air’s
Brittle caress.
The wind is
Your favorite
Mixtape melting.
Go with us.
Barrel of sparks,
Boombox dump-
Sters. Come
Now. One more
Step & it’s a
Shallow pit
Of red-hot
Coals. Get fresh
With the man
On fire. Get
Close to the
Hotness. How
Icky, the compost
Of burning hair.
The stickiness
In your palm.
Hold on, hold.
You’re already
Forgetting how
Far we’ve come.
Don’t say any-
Thing, listen to
Us purr the let
Go, the unfolding.
We’re just going
To etch the song
Into you—deep
Down, all of us
Want, at the last
Second, to change
What we’ve done