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when the apostate fell from grace

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instead of birthday cake and candles,

when i turned ten i ate cotton candy

spun strawberry pink and blue raspberry

by an altar boy (scissor-handed and honey-tongued)

at the church’s carnival:

and when i turned thirteen i got a tdap shot,

but there’s no immunization for lovesickness:

so when i turned sixteen i bled out

in the place scissors slashed me,

and despite recurring doctor’s visits,

the wounds became infected anyways:

tiptoeing out of the hospital

onto a tightrope strung to my apartment,

rosaries hanging

off the thread like

hundreds of delicate nooses,

i overcame past acrophobic tendencies

only to end

in a parachuteless skydive


from a snow angel



snow pounded

into the pavement below.

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