e. v. noechel
Concentration and InhalationFrom Museum Mundane
(May Cause Death Without Warning)
I push them into place,
notebooks full of words
constructed through classes
where I wait for the bell that brings
me here. You're always
quiet but it's like I smell you
behind me, a scent like chocolate without
sugar and I want to
huff carburetor fluid with you,
hear the crackle in my head of burning brain cells,
(not caring not caring)
smirking at the label--may cause death
(hum in my head like not caring not caring)
until I feel the grind of edges,
the ugly concrete
against my soft damp skin.
Take another hit and it all disappears.
Or else I think I'd like black
candles and small gestures
messy trysts like the smell of old ashes
and grass down your pants.
But here it's just pages and letters
so I watch you go to trig
without books and I
shut my locker against the falling
notebooks and words slipping
softly between my fingers.