star

To you

you who lives among our rainbow hills--

green one moment

orange the next

and always blue in the distance--

you who lives along a river

you who lives looking into sunsets

you and you

I'm finishing the story,

How can it be true?

I'm nearing the end;

There is no future to see.

It doesn't feel real

But it is—it's all going to be over. 

Months it's been since this world's been right,

this president can turn even the solemnest of holidays into an opportunity to say whatever he wants. the gravestones crumble in their fields of poppies listening to him speak. all uppercase. all lies.

wrap your laced-up fingers around my throat like you don’t want to breathe,

hold my pupils in your palms. do you want to smile?

amnesia. the brain doesn’t like the watercolour poem of my skeletal frame,

I only ever came here for the fortune cookies 

I don't know if you can tell 

when I stare at the menu 

under shiny plastic with a red rim 

when I glance