Archaic

Written by Jackson Harris | Illustrated by Christopher Ikonomou

assembled in the literal and reaching out to touch

suits and ties and evil eyes on years and years of dust

I’m not who I remember now

older? yes,

but I should not be proud as the passerby hold up scarves and roses

not in my backyard, condolence

no context in the apartment complex

I know who you are

a little metaphysical, these bodies in the dark

the token chose archaic, holding tight to metal stars

faking names and age and playing games to feign a beating heart

made for those suburban dreams just clawing for release

we gather round

our time is up

our shoes are in the street

please!

please.

one day I’ll be a story, always prefaced before I’m told: the rhinestone cowboy, heartbreak prince and boy who sold his soul

all glory, God and lightning rods

you have my hand to hold while yours will move to fix my collar

forever young and dumb and whole

no chasing women around the kitchen no chasing kids around the backyard

blue traditions and basement living where home isn’t very far

where we sit down, happy,

where it must be enough to be on fire in my little room with a nameless pill to crush

I have a fake name and age and role to play to feign a human heart be a man, do what you can until you fall apart

remission

lust

Arcadia

rust

my lifeless body in the car

and your hand has moved to fix my collar

the room has grown so dark

as it starts to bleed inside the dream that once was oh-so lush

the homegrown girls, matchbox prince, and endings all made up

I start to scream inside the dream with lungs all full of dust

oh, I was a shooting star I was shot down I was grateful for the

touch

please?

please.

a little metaphysical

a little unoriginal