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.
