my favorite part of your sadness
we crawl out of our souls to dance marry
around the dying mockingbird
god laughs at us while we tend to his roses.
this morning i killed two roaches in the act of sex
or was it more than a physical act?
i’ve come to terms with everyone i love dying
except for my son.
if prince can die there is no hope for us.
i believe my son is prince reincarnated,
i have the proof at home. take my word.
let me read you this poem about a dog
that could speak and told dirty jokes.
stop me if you’ve heard this war
we crack with laughter until cannons go deaf
pain from ann arbor buried in your heart
like an olive pit in the shoe
i wish you wouldn’t cover up those scars
they are my favorite part of your sadness.
south of france
how many times has weather
been brought to your attention today?
i feel indifferent towards eclipses and blizzards.
most days i talk very little
if i seem rude, it’s a decoy.
please don’t ask me about weather, injustice or my latest
i don’t understand any of it.
the topic of ones-self bores me
perhaps in ten years
we will stumble upon each-other somewhere in the south
we will have no great love
no great burden or desire
“isn’t the weather lovely today?” i’ll say
and the conversation will move on.