Stars that aren’t stars
are screaming in the shadows
and I hate them.
Colors bleeding like death
fall to the ground and disappear
but it’s not the end yet.
More are falling soon.
A woman wept in her driveway.
She was a poet.
Her tears rhymed as they fell
to the ground.
She danced alone,
sadly and lostly.
Looking at her from my back porch,
I realized a truth.
She had reminded me madly
that a coffin might make
a comfortable bed tonight.
But would it?
Maybe they wouldn’t give me socks.
I want socks when I coffinate.
Would it matter? Socks?
Why spend extra time warming feet?
They’ll be cold forever anyway.
Why build an illusion?
I don’t know why.
They don’t know why.
They just do it.
They fill the caskets.
Formaldehyde and socks.
Unless they forget.
I think deeply now.
My feet are cold and
I don’t have socks.
I need to say goodbye.
-Goodbye-
It’s true,
she made me want to die.
But instead
I try to not.
I try to not
goodbye.
