[vc_row row_height_percent=”50″ override_padding=”yes” h_padding=”2″ top_padding=”3″ bottom_padding=”3″ back_image=”56863″ back_position=”center top” overlay_alpha=”0″ gutter_size=”3″ shift_y=”0″][vc_column column_width_percent=”100″ position_vertical=”bottom” style=”dark” overlay_alpha=”50″ gutter_size=”3″ medium_width=”0″ shift_x=”0″ shift_y=”0″ zoom_width=”0″ zoom_height=”0″ width=”1/1″][vc_custom_heading heading_semantic=”h1″ text_size=”fontsize-338686″ text_height=”fontheight-179065″ text_space=”fontspace-111509″ text_font=”font-762333″ text_weight=”700″ text_color=”color-xsdn” sub_reduced=”yes” subheading=”by Yvonne Amey”]The Way I Can’t Breathe When I Think of You[/vc_custom_heading][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column width=”1/1″][vc_empty_space empty_h=”2″][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]There’s a cold, northern dry I can’t feel this far south.
Morrissey is singing about a double bus death.
I can’t remember if you were dead then but I think
you weren’t which makes it worse because I left you alone
at the 9:30 Club without directions home in a city that wore black
because it knew something terrible lived in it.
We stage dive to The Circle Jerks.
Our DC was just a place to smoke crack or get shot.
And that has made all the difference today we say to the mirror.
I wish I had known how forgotten Chuck felt when he jumped from his college dorm.
Back then we were mutant & held bullhorns in fields to warn deer.
Not much has changed except for the way the sun never sleeps in Florida.
How everyone we love and hate are stuck in a place so beautiful and backwards.
How it eats up darkness and people like something raw and alive.
Even now when it gets dark this early I can almost hear Chuck’s body as it lands.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column column_width_percent=”100″ align_horizontal=”align_center” overlay_alpha=”50″ gutter_size=”3″ medium_width=”0″ mobile_width=”0″ shift_x=”0″ shift_y=”0″ z_index=”0″ width=”1/1″][vc_empty_space][vc_separator sep_color=”color-184322″ el_width=”30%”][vc_empty_space][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column column_width_percent=”100″ align_horizontal=”align_right” overlay_alpha=”50″ gutter_size=”3″ medium_width=”0″ mobile_width=”0″ shift_x=”0″ shift_y=”0″ z_index=”0″ width=”1/3″][/vc_column][vc_column width=”1/3″][vc_column_text]Yvonne Amey is a poet and educator living in Central Florida. Her poetry has appeared in Tin House and numerous other literary journals.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][vc_column width=”1/3″][/vc_column][/vc_row]
