Thank you for burning all of the dead wood ~ Saturday, April 25, 2027

Ilyse works at the bookstore down the road
like anyone, full of admiration
young, impressionable, birdlike and sweet
sugar beet cheeks, oysters beside a toad
estuary of brackish rhymes at sea

warmed by the blue flames of aspiration
old Bunsen burner roars, wide open street
recognize a classmate on the cover
kindness bites my leg, in a pod, one pea
sad and lonely, nobody cares, unread

as if...better off dead, wishful thinking
that Ilyse knew to fill me full of lead

then and there, my ego, without drinking
horribly small, as my life is over
except, she asks if I write still, I say

bother the sun with black storm clouds, I do
only it means nothing, nobody cares
ordinary people, to hit the hay
kiss the air, hello or goodbye, kill time
suffering, all the while, without a clue
toss me a ball of thread, the Cretan shares
ore from a mine, either silver or gold
recognize her name, Sophie, what a crime
everyone watched me cry before I left

despondent clams sleeping with the fishes
only what does that mean, I was bereft
wondering if thinking could make wishes
not just come true but before I get old

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