In my attempts to shelter rain,
the sun still sneaks inside through blind spots,
stretching stark nights wide awake
& making mornings gorgeous vine clots.
O, ¿will I miss another bus
on sidewalks paved with flashing chills?
Why, yes, I will—all because o’ the sun,
who never has to pay the bills.
(What a bum.)
Stop cutting up my meters, son—
I must walk 10 to reach my destination.
¿Or was that 8?… Fuck…
“To wait this line you must have patience.”
But I don’t want to end, my friend—
to leave my friend, the cheddar oak.
¿Who needs birdseed when I could tend
to pinecones pancaked under spokes?
(Shut up—it makes perfect sense.)
2 doves on
creaky branches called
branches sing no more,
“O, fuck it.”