He Was Sick

If you dare to forget me,

I will stampede your streets.

I will carve my name

into the class on every subway car

and throw myself across the wild plains

of your crossroad.

I will say, "Marry me, Holden," and you will have no choice.

We will cut through the traffic

and imagine fields and mountains

in those feral lands beyond the Sound.

We will hold each other's waists in our hospital gowns.

We will live, somehow,

hitch a ride on the hawks and ask them to teach us

how the unwilling survive.

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