Poor Me


poor me

life overhears everything
the sounds of

your voice on a telephone

about calendars and your
need to let go

rainbows go color blind
rivers get lost

birds become allergic
to the sky

the sun gets laid

the ground puts on
a jacket

dandelions mistake pepsi
for coke

crayons lose their way
back to the wax

butterflies de-evolve into walking
sticks of margarine

and where am I in all
of this

I’m the guy standing at the
front of the line

it’s my turn to lose you

tree lines catch pneumonia and develop
an aversion for pixie sticks

I don’t want to let you




(from my book Beautiful Graveyards, Farfalla Press)

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