feel good song of the summer

all that’s left in my fruit box,
reds, orange, purple from watermelon
radish, roasted carrots, grapes, cherry
tomatoes &

the brown bottom of the box.

paper
tissue paper
paper airplane
flown straight
into the butt.
what? this is poetry.
don’t roll your eyes at me.

I’m a god damn luminary.

***

the necropolis doesn’t have
nearly enough bones laying around.

take out your skinning knife, honey.
let’s see what we can do about this
bloodless fact.

***

my brain feels broken.
I find myself moved to tears too
often today,
& others. most days.

***

too many things were coming to me;
I had to put down the poetry
& write some.