you dapper sprat, ladling curry and favor
over red beans at a price.
paper plate maven at the spark of her prime. soldering anvils to snowflakes
because heavy hearts are so last dead weight. you sing because you have to.
your books are volumes of non-starters, beginning at “ Once Upon a Mime “
but your body says nothing-wise. your flashlight is a droning confusion.
you haven’t an ****** that hasn’t had a problem made of someone Else.
that’s your Sun, grinning at the concrete.
your freckles amazing, but your lesions legendary. And
somehow you cope.
when your mask abandons your false start, you have a face-
for your every ending.
it looks like nothing you were looking for.
but everything you were after.

you film your ending with all
your beginnings
stopping the
show.

Until it Starts.