You tell Jeff Bridges you fear
your dying breath will be just like
the whimper you make when trying
to remove glitter polish from your
toenails. He sets his guitar down on
the fur rug. Baby Sister, he says,
live like you’re already dead.
You talk to Jeff Bridges about the blood behind your eyes.
He tells you that this is how things got done in the 1990s.
You are sitting at my kitchen table
and Jeff Bridges is in California.
It is either very late or very early.
I am sorry for shaking the table,
for shaking so many legged things.
I kiss your ear and your ear is cold.
I hope Jeff Bridges is wide awake
and writing songs about gnats.
Jeff Bridges’ bald head in Iron Man shines.
Robert Downey, Jr.’s torso is jealous and afraid.
I am eating animal crackers in bed and you are
in Florida in bed with a new one already or in hell.
Jeff Bridges is in Afghanistan yelling, TONY STARK
WAS ABLE TO BUILD THIS IN A CAVE WITH A BOX
OF SCRAPS! The animals look like clouds. Jeff
Bridges would apologize for biting their heads.
