Unpeel my soft skin
Let the mealy apple brown
Because you are gone.

Going out’s impossible today-
The dog is looking at me
but I’ll have to stay because
today I can’t. Today I can’t.

Cleaning up’s impossible today.
Getting dirt on my feet just walking around the house.
I should put socks on but I won’t.
Today’s just another one of those days where I can’t and I won’t.

Really should take a shower today.
Wash away the dirt and the grime and the sweat
but I really don't want to get wet.
just another thing to do
and I can’t and I won’t.

Why is it so hard to live on your own?
No one telling you what to do, you're alone.

I probably should try and eat some food
there’s nothing in the fridge
and I’m not really hungry at all
perhaps I’ll go to bed.
Another day, another day
another day where I will stay in the same place.

I’m wonderin’ if I’m wasting my life? Wonderin’ if there’s anything else I could be doing?
Then I remember life is… confusing
no one knows anything.
“Doing” feels like a problem. What if I do something wrong?
What if I hurt someone else? I don’t want to hurt anyone.
So I'll stay here at home.

I can’t. I won’t. I’ll stay alone.

The boy first noticed the crow on a quiet afternoon.
It called to him — caw, caw — from a high branch.
The crow tilted its head.
It was watching him.

The next day, the boy returned and called out,
"Hello, crow! Caw caw!"
The crow swooped low, its blue-black feathers catching the light.
The boy smiled as it wheeled above him in wide, graceful arcs.

On the third morning, as the boy laced his boots, his father asked,
"Where are you off to?"
"To visit the crow," said the boy.

His father scowled.
"Crows are no good — thieving pests. One crow is one too many."
"Not this one," said the boy.
"He calls to me and dances in the sky."
"No crows," his father snapped, thrusting the gun into his hands.

The boy walked out to find his friend.
The crow called to him — caw, caw —
But this time, the boy did not answer.

The crow glimpsed the glint of metal.
He spread his wings wide and climbed,
Spiraling toward the sun.

Remember me, little boy,
See how beautifully I fly?

The boy raised the gun.
A shot cracked the silence.
The crow fell — limp —
And struck the earth.

Stillness.

The boy turned away.
He did not look back
At the blue-black feathers
Scattered in the light.

I sat at the window
watching the kids across the street
do cartwheels in their yard.
They shrieked and galloped
and flitted about the
green, green grass—
enjoying all the seconds
of this first summer-feeling day.

And I sat at the window
drinking ginger ale
for my hangover.

In the distance,
I heard the bagpipes.
The old, old, old lady
who lives next door
died yesterday—
so they must be her bagpipes.

They filled the air
with something
I had never felt before
on this familiar block—
with its dead end,
mowed lawns,
and oak trees.

I felt nothing
about the old, old, old lady
but guilt
for feeling nothing.

A boy I went to high school with
died yesterday.
He was knocked out in a fight
and went into a coma.

He was twenty-two.

I hope he had bagpipes.

Darling,
I'm flailing against rip tides
but really I'm just laying in bed thinking
please god help me pay my taxes
I'm on the cusp of something great I can feel it
please god.
It’s the small-humongous things that are so ****** tricky
like security and happiness and self respect.
And you. (*uck you) you have to be complicated too?
You can't just be there to want me when I need you?
Take my hand and walk me across busy streets?
Eh.
How *ucking brilliant you think you are sheep *unt.
Draw the shades, crawl under the covers fully clothed.
Let's make a tent. Why?
Because I need you to be
my own personal heyzeus and walk me 'cross water
and hide with me.

What about the sound of fingernails clicking
on ivory keys?
Does it distract you from the ringing,
from the pinging, from the singing
in your mind like the rolling rain?

Shining a flashlight under the hood of the casket
To see the broken glass intersection
Where I met myself
In the reflection of the car window
Through slicing drops

Those yellow sheets still piled
Under the piano bench-
music that can’t be played,
because the thing built
out of wood, ivory and hammers
is silent now.

They weren’t sure
till they compared
dental records
‘gainst what was there

A metal jaw
four teeth remaining
the scientists saw
a blueish staining-

and empty orbs
that could not see
his crimes against
humanity

Yet, here in his fragmented skull
a bullet hole in his temple-

No meat no man
he used to chew
and spit out hate
“**** all the jews”

Forever sunk,
below, beneath
he burns in hell.
Here are his teeth.