Night Sky with Exit Wounds

by Ocean Vuong

Everyone can forget us—as long as you remember.

You’re so quiet you’re almost tomorrow.

the stars were always what we knew they were: the exit wounds of every misfired word.

Note to self: If a guy tells you his favorite poet is Jack Kerouac, there’s a very good chance he’s a douchebag.

I have enough ink to give you the sea but not the ships, but it’s my book & I’ll say anything just to stay inside this skin.

we were more than black ink on the bone -white backs of angels facedown in the blazing orchard. Ink poured into the shape of a woman’s calf. A woman I could go back & erase & erase but I won’t.