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face-wringing sobs
stretched thin a checkered throat
an infant's exodus
through alcohol and smoke
bothered the neighbors

pangs
of reverse Pangaea
empty rooms split
forming a single cell
padded
white


the hunter dead-man-floated
on the surface
always surface
of the glazing-over pools
of a dying doe

reflection waxed woeful
wails impaired the air- white
spots adrift on black
were stared at
backup eyes all a`wonder

children's stories beautiful
in their simplicity
morals of great antiquity
easily missed by some
sprouted new teeth
a xylophone of slavering fangs
enveloped the bed

Dionysian sticks
of emaciation who questioned wisdom
spoon fed toothless hearts
short bristles sweeping up
enamel chips; barefoot
embarrassment dancing
through several silly songs

I loved my life before I lived it.
Now my life is but a thing
and a series of things
and about to be canceled.
But if you only feel really bad at the end