for Austin Pruett
Cold snapped temperature
begging for more
bodies by the dozen
wrapped in front of your nearest church door.
I work the soup kitchen circuit
I can’t feel sorry for myself anymore.
If mangroves grew in my city
I’d tie a knot of plastic can holders
to each branch to be anchored with stone.
Artificial growth on organic compounds:
Collagen injected into the silicone tit of a mother.
A smokers car floor of memories
smashed to an ashen pulp
mitigating between coffee spills
and sockless toes when pedals are pushed.
The myriad you.
The gesture used to finalize what thought
is left of the lover left behind.
Cold-reading again
as an actor for escapism.
Easier to bleed in literature
than meet a future liaison
who turns out to be a bedsore.
Ha I’m talking about me again.
Ha I have been good this winter.
Ha I haven’t touched a woman for months
I feigned celibacy
last New Years
until Valentines Day.
Destructive loving digs
a miscalculated emotional atmosphere
giving too much to take a little
or another problem is
too much too tiresome!
O, a gesture of love!
I imagine romance perfected:
‘You’re much too much too soon’
on repeat on the stereo
in the bathroom.
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