Disintegrating Ode to Ian Curtis

If you begin by zeroing in on the rings around his eyes         if you

turn your head like all those turned-on before you         gleaming up

like sweaty moons bobbing on their axes         & if you follow

the smoke leaking out his ears         hanging off his tongue         my bet

is that you’ll see it         anguish chopped into sheet music         his

sweet baritone voice is drenched in blackness         my

speaking voice is a low baritone moan         my father warned

if you follow the cigarette hung low in his mouth your face

will end up in his ashtray         it is true         all my turn-ons include

my triggers         the first time I heard Atmosphere I scoffed

all the cans of tuna saved for the apocalypse in our basement         I sat

brown-handed & heavy-eyed with only him bursting in my ears        

there are so many different ways you can get into a skull         in a parallel universe

the coke fumes finally wash off me but then somewhere else

I never graduate so where does that leave me         is that

a good question         I never could get a handle on time         now I am

knee-deep in smoke & will not move until the smoke

alarm stops screaming         I picture his face drowned in it

crescent & timorous         trussing that mouth

that was only ever his         & will not open for someone like me