"Anyone can play the ripcord guitar.”

I can’t stop whispering you
You, my lung lozenge slab to suck on
Thumb for comfort, you were.

You’re bones are just a nice dream,
A karma airbag for my crash.

Scrolls of siestas on Wednesdays flicker in your history:
People trip over the power cord, land into your vegetable lap.

Beyond the gabled rooftops that guard my youth,
I tumble like a cloud for you.

I might be wrong, but you’ve crushed my tin box once before
& I cannot con your spinning plates

Instead, I’ll schedule (without appropriate permissions)
a bending occurence in this
permanent daylight.

Chances are taken like free drink tickets these days
– happenstance surrenders.

To keep my mind to one album would be A Destruction of Trust.

Wish I could, but, in flux,
I come, love, and I leave.
Can hear, but never reach.