it is a little worm, a mind killer, a mild killer on a wednesday afternoon to come so
soon to understand all that has been

that will no longer stand. to see the sun as one, as many days, as many ways to lead
your face away from mine
to shadows. to be found
not by the one who seeks, but by the one who walks

along the stones and skips them into sea. to see the water rise and fall, to drown
regret with ethanol

to chaffing skin. how to begin to tell apart the blues from reds, how the song starts

so softly and it ends too soon. i’d like to take this afternoon to tell you how dear beth
collapsed of broken record’s broken farce of false facades and marmalade that glued
her poor throat shut and how she looked upon the bed, her lemon skin, her aching
head, oh how we came to watch the light

go out and come again, the fright of loss has filled with slight her broken fingers’
broken sight and wine had tasted very sweet when beth collapsed

beneath our feet.

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