Pine needle spine man holding our memories in his hands his wife is crowned with midnight and starlight and smoked pipes climbing down rooftops into the night blatantly crouching on couches and corners watching the torture of being ignored play out into the morning where hope is found in sunspots blinding and leading you to the trees where bottles hold hostage secrets that you could never believe his sweater tightly wound around your knees and the deep blue of his soul has vanished into the public pool where green stripes and chlorine fights are left to surgically remove the sanity from your brain

and the only thing left are the words you can’t tame