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weeping willow goes to sleep
and i am on my coverlet so
cold
but if it comes to solid ones
i’ll take the fishing game of ghosts
no more hangman
no more crosswords
i can’t take that confrontation
no i’ll take my happy nap
and feign a dream of slow unwinding
when it comes it comes fast
the sorest pride is left in suds
the countertop is never clean
the waiting is the anxious game
the memories lie still, do we
dare to nudge them to confirm
that they are just asleep?
i can’t deal with heavy bodies now
let them blend into the scenery
they will pulsate just the same
full of blood, the progeny of our
mingling
how shall we find strangers to
adopt them all?
