Crushed against a will, direction compromised by the angle of your cigarette – whole unborn notions begin the disintegration – starting with leaving this table, Adirondack seats pressing upwards, beer drying in many imperfect circles –
I want to say what you want to hear – but that’s still beyond me, your blue convertible life – sentences of so many lengths – and the mass on trial can’t even begin to justify the steroid dark –
In case I can’t make it up the front steps tonight, I will let you know that I fell – hopefully missing the plum tree caught a few years back, just now adding to my large collection of scars –
And, of course, the location of the string on a marionette.
