My
anti-viral children
have
porcelain hands and feet

I mean today
went better
than expected

but ****
do I hate
my job

there's sand in my shoes
but
I can't remember the last time I went to the
beach

there's lipstick on my collar
but I simply
can't
recall
the last time
I washed this shirt
to be perfectly
honest
with you

colored lights on **** hill
thick bright bulbs on Castro street
and little glass stars on Font

dots that dance on the wall
glitter thrown into the sky
and the flickering bathroom light

the humble street lamp
two rusty blinking headlights
and the glow of a cellphone

the plan
originally
was to make forever happen
forever
as in
a little while
at least
the plan
of course
couldn't follow through
because of me
but mostly
because of you

I'm just a pile of bones,
leaning deep into my desk,
deep into my computer screen,
the sight is quite grotesque,

for I am just a pile of bones,
with my hollow clinking sound,
as my ribcage xylophone,
sinks slowly to the ground,

I'm just a pile of bones,
so please don't mind the mess,
I promise to pick up my pieces,
right after they all undress,

'cause I"m just a pile of bones,
it doesn't matter where I fall,
scattered across the desk here,
and spread out into the hall,

for this lonely pile of bones,
reserves the right to sleep,
in hopes I'll be put back together,
in the hours I seldom keep.

Pastel paint down a gridded terrain,
square indentation in a porous grain,
snow atop the mountain melts away,
floods the chasm to crumble today,
gone in a flash, its been known,
short-lived is my ice cream cone.