a month is passing
while your tongue is losing grace.

When you stand in a cornfield,
you cannot see your sisters,
who lie on the other side,
enjoying the butter
and smiling.

Time is passing,
and closing my eyelids
does not erase your faces.

I haven't had enough to eat today,
or in weeks.

Keep looking,
keep tasting.

A month has passed.

While your faces lose grace,
I will tear the stitches
off of the straitjacket
you threw on the back porch.

--

I love you.
I am better off without you

.