The sin is existing.

Any still figure at mid-late evening, when the long shadows make even crumbs appear arranged like furniture.

The storm passes without snow.
The car waits loyally in the back lot.

He has stories that I am not in
anymore. It’s healed this way.

and apples, mackintosh mostly, but any kind left in The Pub
at the Assisted Living Place

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

Lights on the dashboard spell out
“You still can’t kiss me”

and then her eyes fully opened — blazed through with strands of mud

I would always rather be happy than
dignified. Rather held than held
in awe.

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

You’ve spent a lifetime training
for this.

my friends’ fathers are
dropping
I mean dying
like flies

we drove on through
the blue seal of morning as the turbines
turned and winked out their hearts

I have an axe
with hearts gashed

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

my love is a glass shard, a knife made of madness and moonlight,
and there are already way too many fragments in this house

my father holds
his favorite drink

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

love is a soggy tea stain on a grocery receipt