I:
Modern parlance,
It says disease; it says illness,
I’ve a darkness that swallows up the sugar birds and intercepts the light bouncing up from the epoxy,
and rocketing towards a god my mother knew.
II:
I've done so much,
To great and tractable youth,
That hammer created nothing vestigial and lionlike, no, it simply left depressions on waxen suburban doors,
That you once wildly rushed to open.
III:
When I remember,
You wrapped around the backstay in an empty field -
Trying to reach forward and knock the Camel light that I had lit to keep myself from speaking,
I light another.