‘One For Every Glance’ by Atsushi Ikeda

Partly to consummate our
guilt, partly to escape what
went wrong, partly to drop
another excuse like spare
change at your feet.
Partly to drink ourselves to
sleep, partly to mistake a
kiss for “sorry,” partly to
forgive whoever it is that
weeps in the mirror.
Partly to fold this paper house
in half, partly to tease the
basement fire, partly to lease
one body to the other and
have nowhere to stay.
Partly to pinch us out of a
dream, partly to drink our
selves awake, partly to work
up the nerve to tell you
all my excuses as they
crackle at your feet.

 


ATSUSHI IKEDA is a 13.8 billion year old flicker. On the side, he is also a 1st year student at McGill. Plans to study the unspoken.

Copyright © 2018 by Atsushi Ikeda. All rights reserved.