It’s that time again when the
Kids you know
Die of overdoses
******
Bad hearts
Drunk falling down a spiral staircase

Everyone’s a golden color
Splitting their minds with legs
Sharing dreams filled with red, skin, x-ray imagery,
Stuff upon stuff
Women losing their husbands in the clutter
In the crosseyed legends of love
Where the world doubles onto itself
One half inside the other. Slow in motion.
It’s hard to be an anti-movement movement
Unto yourself so we materialize the most terrible-
Well I can’t really say it- the sensation that does not ground in you but flees back out-
And so with the dead boy tucked under the bed
And so with the sweetheart refusing to spread her blood
And with the fall and the car crash

Build something out of this I dare you to,
Try not to make it a tomb.