Splitting my back
Washed out
Washed up
Birds silent under traffic
Traffic is all I heard
Change in jars
(not enough quarters
Only nasty copper)
My nose an oozing wound
On my face

I’m looking for good news
In every bottle I find
Lifting my pen
To defend myself
Cutting the clouds
With my own protesting
Chill
Showering under the pale
Light
I’ll pretend to be a
Bald face moon

Dignified

Thanks for coming to see
Me yesterday
You looked like a sweet
Tired stain
To my heavy head and
In my favorite story