What I meant to say was clear /
Like, look at this comp
Says, no it’s late.
Eyes betray me, look I gave agency to flesh,
But what I meant to say was I exhausted myself
To pass out, to pass the time,
Twirling a cigarette to hail the darkness.
Always picturing movement,
Because what I’m trying to say is still / silence.
As if motivation is a secret,
Sugar secreting from a pear.
What I mean to say is two things coming together like a glance,
Like a glass of milk.
What I wanted to say was whiskey,
Sound of a crack opening bottles.
What I really mean is a door has multiple parts engaged in function.
What I really mean is I’m apart,
Indivisible sections laid out on a rug.
What I mean is some part of me would see these pieces, another part would just
bang them together to make sparks.
This reminds me of the wild,
& this is me not admitting it,
& this is isolation of myth,
& this is my exit.
Jonathon Todd is a poet and musician, living in South Philadelphia. His work deals with observations mainly written between breaks, trying to find humanity outside of and within labor. His work has been featured in Philadelphia Stories, The Lower East Side Review, and Shakefist Magazine among others.