OUR NAME HERE

What signage!
Hung starkly
above some
no doubt
necessary
warehouse,
though whose
wares they are,
I am unaware.

Our name—
what a get,
what suggestion
in sage lettering
that graces facade,
a finger-cuff fantasy
splayed in bold black,
a projection
ripe for drifting.

No seer
saw such visions
as this, no pastor
imparted fervor,
no foreman nor shipwright
developed a finer blueprint.
I feel you near,
as warehouse recedes
into vacant eastward plains,
pulled through a madhouse
of my own making, constellating
every moment my tooth pulsed
to make you mine,
and now I have seen the sign:
OUR NAME HERE.