asphalt graves

by Carmella Furio

stumbling through concert aftermaths
targets at halfpasttwelve a
portillos at two a
culvers at ten

it’s this same way that these
asphalt graves always take us
as beetles seek recluse
from the peeling of our throats

we come out
cars with peachjam knees
with sweatswept brows we
come home to nothings

say, now that we’ve found
the last space in the lot
crawl to it under angler lamps
& broken rock

giggles & shifted lines

engine chugs doorsslam it’s
traffic after sunrise
the crack of whispers we cannot keep
shower thoughts under open air moons

lay a penny on the ground and pretend it’s a flower
lay a flower on the ground and pretend you’d have stayed