goodness gracious, my eyes
forget in a hazy evening you
my joy,
because the oak man
smeared his oils across the sky
in palms of golden ease:
into the chair now,
into the chair,
declining into the rewritten
soup of a new generation,
sick, strong,
and devilishly normal
in the face of the ancient
shake of the hands,
a feathered gratitude
rises to the occasion,
laughter and ash
i cannot undo these shoelaces
like i can jumble
my memory
into a thousand puzzle pieces
with my clocks hanging
echoing our history
i wrote a screenplay for you,
it was easy to cry before
i even put my pen down,
sinking into a freshwater bath,
scarred and adorable
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