dear god
i see my friend at the train station
mouth black with soot and apprehension
white knuckles curled around a suitcase full of you and stickers plastered
on the front of my boot
dirt caked and loose thread all coming apart
of me and you and i and they are a changeling
a golden ring
a sour ping
a little thing
i think that every suitcase has you with dead wood and a broken string
try to find my opus in the back of the closet
my valuable
*** caked with a bible full of flies