Crisis on Jane’s Behalf

Love, I’m frowning. I’m downing
beers and whiskey shots, gazing
at women with hard faces, impossible
bodies, other drunks.

I will call you next week (the promise
unkeepable). I have an Audrey Hepburn stamp
that looks like you. All this sleep—
green, brutal!

I always wanted to grow old & normal,
always wanted your mouth (and your arms) wrapped
in plain brown paper, sanitized,
for safety, my loveless consumption.

Trying as hard as I can. The airplanes
have stopped flying, the poem I’m reading
has stopped being about you. I will remove your
parentheses.

You’ll tumble off the page into my canoe.