Billy Lambent

Poem #1 July 31st 3:06 am To: Ginger From: Billy You were the last chance I had not to let the words speak themselves up into one big act. My last line of defense against the threat of taking myself seriously, dreaming a fixed idea’s idea of a joke, a child's imitation of catastrophe. If I could have been anything other than this silly intoxication with death…for you, I would have. But I am nothing but everything I say online.

What is it she sees…? Her face couldn’t have been an inch or two away from the canvas. I didn’t even know you were allowed to draw so close to a painting in a museum—it felt explicit somehow, inappropriate, how little she seemed to care about the distance implied by the trellis of the frame. She was like a hummingbird immersed in petals and nectar.