"though the most simple creatures"
in black gloss Ironlak
on the back wall of the gas station
I was told to stay away from.

I didn't do it,
I promise.

my promises are matches struck
by a nervous mom.

you get it.

lost friends,
lost teeth,
always another cigarette;
bees on bouncing lavender.

isn't that beauty enough?

I had an infinitely more horrible
time than I care to remember.

so I'm writing about it,
cheers Mr. Vonnegut,
so it goes.

so I go slowly slipping
through scenes of me
being a ******* *******
or prose I wrote
after a few-too-many.

ask(no),
act old so I can embody
the loss of life more
efficiently.

I'm a ******* *******.

why do you think
I tried burning that particular
house down,
out of all the houses
on our street?

loaded questions.
I love you.
I'm sorry.
the "I" of now hates himself
for all of it.

every question is loaded;
fun house mirrors.

birds are a theme of mine;
I pick up feathers off the street.

they finally settle on my altar
in a 87 cent vase
only big enough for a dandelion
or two.
or feathers.

hawk, turkey vulture,
raven, bluejay, mockingbird,
hummingbird.

however they lost them,
they play bouquet for love now.

like me,
finally.

crowns for beasts,
mouths for feasts.
clouds are the breeze
and the breeze is you
dancing in my dreams;
a ballerina in a music box.

snarling kings
lead the man in me
to seek apotheosis.

don't you know this
by now?

I am a child.
always.

in love's first winter
I lost my ******* mind twice;
ground is still bleeding.

thinking over years,
I slowly fall forever.
we were happy there.

we were never that.
leverage fact somewhere else.
we were never that.

probably so.