The Dissection of Us

September 28, 2017
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I painted
[and unpainted and painted again]
A self-portrait.
I painted a sunset in blood and flour.
I painted my hair in soil and salvation.
And as the earth grows old and groans
I’ll be sitting in a rocking chair
On a yellow veranda. & I’ll chew on hay and
Remember your songs.

I painted
[and unpainted and painted again]
The doorknob
to your room a bright blue.
Not red;  to stop.
Not green;  to go.

The windows are smashed,
I must apologize,   but I do not control
Our wild birds.

You must forgive them,
They fly so  fretfully.
I cannot disturb them with words of criticism.

In pools of moonlight I’ll ask
for your songs, and I know I shall not receive.
But yet I’ll sing until the sun hits our brows
And wait for you to join me.

If lemons grew where I love to stand 
In the garden
I would sing songs of summer and indulgence.

I would bake a lemon pie
And sink it in the river
So the fish may indulge on my lemons.

[You may not have any of my lemons.]

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