i kiss clouds that look like dough,
they teach me what’s for dirt.
swear one time i killed myself –
woke up, went to work.
age sells homes along the heart
but plumes of smoke to shape the dark –
stronger streams than we run clear
and run another day. say
if i told your story true and
you could mine and we did too,
would any drink of water do
to know which spring it sprang?
light, oh dare i say i see how
one spark eats the effigy? how
martyrs seeking empathy
make no great joy to hang?
manna for our just deserts
all rhyme the flame of song.
the tenderest of hearts break for
what nothing they’ve done wrong.