Barely holding on to a slippery railing,
these stairs go everywhere like
MC Escher with vertigo in a tilt-a-whirl
my life is this empty envelope
I tried to use to send you a love letter,
but you threw it away before ever opening it
and now without a breath or a move left
I skip stones on the smooth surface
of your callous indifference.
The ripples migrate to the shore,
leave me drowning in the middle
with my middle finger the only thing
you can see as I slip out of sight.
Don’t wake me up. I’m sleeping in.
I’m vulnerable and frail and with
only a clothespin for a tail I’m nowhere
near whole, just a donkey in a hole.
Load the gun. Put a book in my head.
We’re homespun mysterious little runts.