We got back together on election day
As they say
When one door opens
Another one is threatened with missiles by China

We did not have the popular vote
Our electoral college hearts didn't care.
We knew our love deserved another term

I stole my girlfriends car to pick you up
Drive us to the voting booth in my old elementary school
It felt like by you entering that building we invented a tine machine

If we actually built a time machine
Do you think we would change the world somehow?
Step on one of our stomach butterflies or **** ******.

when I hear butterfly effect I think of election day
I think of the butterflies in my stomach
Learning how to start the first fire with sticks
How we rub them together
Until the sparks catch
Watch each other become warm
For the first time
All over again

Your legs slide up behind the tiny curtain of the voting booth
They say not to let others know who you vote for
But you were very clear
I've never heard a louder pledge of allegiance from behind such a tiny curtain

We stole the tiny pencil
In exchange for your *******
I think it was a fair trade
I want to see the face of who found those in the ballet box

I wonder if the vote counted.

I feel like firing missiles into the ocean to showcase our willingness to destroy everything for *******

We still don't have the popular vote in our next term

Even after all this legislature
They only remember our campaign slogans
And sound bytes
No one reads bills we pass
Laws we right

We have so much love
It must be run like a country
Our Senate is skeptical of the leadership

Our people are butterflies
Always jumping
Flying
Giddily bumping into walls
And getting back up

If we are so bad at running this country why are the people so healthy?
What makes them sing so loud?

It's the letters we write.
I took our time machine forward

They keep our letters in a muesem
Glass boxes
Display our hearts played out with our poetry
I always knew you deserved the attention.

There's a tank of caterpillars
Children watch them grow and set them free
A living breathing memorial

We really did found something beautiful.

When we passed on
They elected our children to run.
Our love still thrives
Claims territory
Inspires young writers

I saw a young girl reading your letter start to cry
I didn't need to look.
I knew which one it was
You haven't written it yet.

You are in a recliner
M.A.S.H. is on the T.V.
A boy moves you to a wheelchair
White doors
Hallway
Small reuban cube dinner
Thickened water
Chocolate ice cream
White fabric
White light
Black curtains

What is the sound of a silent heart
Isolated in cold scalpel bruises
Carterized by abandonment
Autistic hearts
Feeling emotion without the correct faces
Muscles that can't dance
Blood that is blueshell and breathless
Uncooked lobster hearts
Amazing how a heart screams as it is submerged
Suspended room tempature in a sensory deprivation tank
Left of center

Slam my hip down
Hipbone a Warm teardrop
Ripples on impact
My body
Of water
The stage

Walls turn wonderland
As the pills kick drum
I am the bass drop
Hands dove letter
To my mouth
The room waves
As she stands staring
Knees locked in contrapassto
Pinstripes in my eyes
I have no need for the white eyes
Or white fabric
Purity was always
your delusion
Dreamt into syringes
Pricked into tiny faves
Fat with cake and promises from their daddy's
Or any man
With a poloroid camera

I am standing on the ceiling
Chandler trees raze
And solidify a shining icy stasis
Large and formal
Cold and towering
Tables glued upside down overhead
tiny tealights stuck too
Fire flickers down

You are a spotlight
Head
Chest
Skin
All Lighthouse

Peninsula
Ocean
Curvature of the earth
You beam clairvoyance
Shake your head.
Free of these lighthouses
You are under tealight s
A woman dances

Your hand touches your tie
Pen
Wrist muscles with fingers stimming
Champagne watch
Navy sleeve
Shoulder
Cheekbone

Soft hand on your cheek.

My eyes have no whites.
My age, gave me stale white sheets
White light, black curtains.

Tattered flags
Wedding dress train
White fringe cached in dirt road
Like baggy jeans bottoms
Converse stomped but worn each day like a religion.

Stolkholmes syndrome
Maybe she would have taken off the dress for the right sandpaper hands.
Delicately telling time and wearing her
Down six months
Down eight years
Down in the basement
Ducttape cuffed to a wooden chair
Bandages torn off slow
Like a drag on a thick cigar
From fat lips
Fat teeth
Fat wallets.

She spent a lot of time on her side smashed down on her bruised ear.
From the cold concrete after tipping cedar legs
Or listening too closely

Didn't clover though
Despite the Irish eyes
She isn't lucky enough to have scars
We can see.

Green. She is tall
Held fire shattered in year 20-something
She has flash backs
When men in black
Hold pens to her nose and click

A boat from Ellis island
Rainstorm on white picket signs and fences in a dance of coin and sweat

Under long arms
Holding the hilt
Called the broken blade fire.
Say there's a mountain somewhere that matched her on tinder
Three men's faces carved into it.
I hear she used to represent freedom
Before being robbed of her flaming sword

I bet if the statue of liberty had a voice

And she does

She would wear a red dress.
No makeup
Sew her mouth shut
Love the pain
and post Gore **** pictures
on adult websites as confession.

I believe the statue of liberty owns stripper heels
And can run in them.

I believe god is a broken torchlight.

I believe being consumed by the fires of god is a metaphor
For drowning in the green shrapnel of a voice or a wedding dress.

I believe I am ready to be a statue
To drop my fire in the ocean

Crumble under America
be found in Atlantis under pounds of enough pressure
only the angler fish can tempt me.

At least underwater
Men are ***** producing parasites
And I can drown in something beautiful.

I want my book in a children's library
I want my book in a maximum security prison

I want my book resting on a cloud in a sky
to be seen by a passenger in an airplane
the passenger to crack the escape hatch and jump
survive the fall

I want my book to be a parachute
I want my book surrounded by tiny hands,

hearts,
and mouths,
saying I love you
I love me.
I will survive

I want a book that is a house
for the abandoned
I want a book that is a vacany sign
Rent me.

I want my book that is a headstone
I want a book that is a flowerbed
I want a book that is a matchstick
a Tire Iron
an oil tanker

I want a book that is a leatherman
in a hunters pocket
in the belly of a deer
in the zip ties and cellophane
of a childs Christmas present

I want a book that bleeds

I want a book held by tiny hands
with wide eyes
wider because of me

I want to destroy the innocence of children
by handing them courage and wisdom
I want to inspire revolution
I want sad eyes and clenched fists
I want skydive
wings grown during the fall

I want a nation run by answers
with blood stained sheets

I want a book that is every question
symbiotic book
single cell organism
splits in two hearts

I want a book that is a surgeon

saving lives,
holding scalpel
I want a book with hands up
no rubber gloves, just a gun to it's back
an engine running
I want a book that is a bank robbery
paper bag mask
on fire
Molotov cocktails
disguised as champagne bottles
Destined for VIP

I want the man who threw it
to be the only one burning
and well read
And *****
I want my book in his VIP

I want him to read it with a melted eye
I want my book in his prison cell
to be next to me
maximum security
my casket

I want a book resting
on a cloud in the sky
in a children's library
surrounded by tiny hands
Before I am gone.