There's a black
Hair-pinned sliver
AKA velvet liver
Lying under the bed
Catty-cornered
Adjacent to where my eyes wed
As I count the primes
I can't help but roll my eyes
And tears stream down my face.
The strigiforme released the worm
From the pebble teeth lodged in its beak.
Double the space from
One and three.
The song changed,
Her morning sickness spoke
Fold our lives in leaves,
The time we have is brief.
She came from under the bed
To blame
I shook my head and said
I did not eject.
I was fake
She was fake
The bed was fake
The owl,
Melted plastic
Left in the sun's wake,
Pacific rays, bleak and weak
Melding homes.
This makes no sense.