So I Don't Have to

place, i remember the place

connection of strings in Bartok

like headless sentiments

through polaroids

so i forget just who was there

the search for purpose in this world

may not have gone like this

like when i dreamt of skeletons

in the acme parking lot

who discovered eagle’s nests full of flesh

working up to the bad news

with a dance of logistics

it was easier to pull buttercups

whose reflection foretells

your surrender to drizzling walks home

in the event horizon

i tell of failed surprises

of sage ash and sea salt

and a culinary future

that is easier to share