You said it was okay to blame
what goes wrong on the planet

the strands of your hair on the bathroom tiles aren’t sketching defeat. that’s you spitting disease in the face with another day you’ve woken up to.

I like to think I’m also sprung,
released from the furnace knocks,
done with the heavy meat stews
and salty soups.

Listen to me: I know
the winter gloom in
mid-summer…

my father holds
his favorite drink

If my life was the size of my arm, I would stretch it out for you.

Even from this distance I could go out
the door it would bang shut and crumble

you know that
baby swallows make silver ripples
in wild rivers to court reeds?

Ghosts for hire, whispers in her mouth,
cysts to feel, the symmetry of a gift.

I am not a guide
for every traveler
of loss.

Long after midnight, we’re talking about our first time

I have an axe
with hearts gashed

Gravel-scatted hell &
we were blessed to be able
to hold on for even a heartbeat

The sin is existing.

I tap at the alphabet while a single deer
taps at the dirt beyond the brush
on the far side of the tree line.

Part of being a good sad person
is always painting the shadows
in the right direction and knowing
what sorrow to art with.