Do you remember how...
I leave
this house
an old
weasel
to now
return
"babied"
like some
long held
Idea...?
why not
shoulder
the sky
with me
tonight
from this
global
roof top
plugged up
by the
opening
stage lights
...though only
sometimes...
...so we're
setting
our mouths
ajar...
collecting
stars and
teardrops
...as not
to drown
within
our doubts
...or have
our spleens
run dry...
you see
how the
falling
plasma's
blank like
purest
summer
sun downs
that dance
in our
crystal
cut eyes...
when they
bleed out
to a
sacred
strike of
midnight
...red is
just the
color
of our
makeup
when we've
played too
long with
all of
mamma's
cabinets...
changing
our minds
because
the shoes
don't fit
the path
outlined
on these
expired
tourist's
maps that
were lent
us last
I fear...
....losing...
these thoughts
...that dreamed
I'd write
and share
somewhere
when we'd
returned
to the
arms of
the saps
that raised
us here
...on a
swing set
swaying
over
all of
earth's parched
crust that's
formed us
up whence...
and now
reclaims
us once
again
in its
eternal
dust