A burnt out lantern sits next to week old chips.

Sunny days point at me, laughing–

She laces my shoes,

I abandon my porch,

 

A dove is terminated, deep in the valley of my mind.

She means well, dips her wings into my ill brain,

Flies ‘round and ties my veins like licorice,

pure feathers littering my filthy bones.

 

She is my guardian, in a dimly lit home

My skin is now

less pale than before.

The sun cleans my aching hands.

 

My life, I vest it all to God, dragging

numerous selves into a journal.

Sometimes she’s vulgar, lacking a filter on her absent mind

yet often she is laced with honeysuckle and music.

 

Ruby necklaces and pierogies for dinner; call my lover

who allows me to lie my head on his lap,

The tears pour and pour until he quits.

He kneels down again, his words afloat in the air; catch them quick

 

I am now only associating with sweet pies under my solemn tent of bed sheets,

These voices echoing through me, quit–

My brain rotates and another sensation is present.

Who are you?

 

She comes and leans alongside me after I wake,

Not looking for a single relation between us,

We fly kites at noon, allowing them to dip barely along the surface of the river,

We are elated.