Border Guards

Matt Carney

Who's at the gate?
It doesn't matter so
I buy American Spirits,
I smoke half, and I give half away.
I am judged, and I judge freely.
I am swallowed by the fat of jealousy.
I make assumptions, I am assumed.
I study your media as
you study mine.
I am your ghost.
I jingle silver bullets in
my slacks pockets.

There is a constant science
to the distance between us.
There is a constant sentinel
for this tireless desire.
For one year, I await you
at the gate.
I might wait forever, and I should not.

You are the only one
I ever really write for:
Everything you hear is yours.