School never taught me this:
As a mite upon the side of an angel,
Dawn in a place covered by
my hands across my face,
four pillars of goo goo muck,
and a cellophane chick riding
a llama with pink bow ties,
chasing a hurricane of black birds,
squeezing a heart-shaped sponge
in her putrid waters.
Morning cresting over NYC moans,
tender anima fingers thinner
than the cheapest french fries.
I slapped for spikenards telling lies,
between light and darkness is
the unbearable truth: why so many
parents perforate the skin of abandoned
sweet children. Forever. Wish I had more
(opportunity) like chances like embers
to burn these bones to leave nothing:
nor leafless flowers but splattered love.
It's a game exchanged inside multiverses
of fruitless labor for the human mind.
:: 05.24.2023 ::
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