one time, i saw it.
in the window,
a father--the wife,
a couple of kids,
alcoholism
a loveless marriage
a little girl--
right before it turned black,
a thick, sludging like ***** oil
from an engine
shifting over,
black. i didn't
see a childhood,
i saw
abyss.

that's the
only time
she ever spoke
about it
to me. her
darkness, i understood
then, why she would run
from shades of grey,
and lived
with that fake light
in her, the one that
will laugh
at anything
you say
the one that
agrees with everyone
the one that
is loud about having fun
when no one is.

i wish i were king midas.
id turn the moon gold--and make you a pseudo-sun
in the dark, in the night,
to sheen endless reflections
of the real one
so that you are always in light.


if i were king midas
id touch everything
inside of there,
and you'd never know
the night
ever
again.