I heaped my oldself
into a shallow grave
in the center
a cobblestone
under it the cross
you had given me
light years ago
on a thursday
after a full moon

the alignment of the stars didn’t change
so i built a bonfire
and tossed in my nightmares
they rose away as smoke
on a moonless night
this went on till dawn
when rosey fingers strangled
the last creature of conscience

then there was the row boat
in the middle of the lake
I pulled the scuttle plug
as a rising tide raises all boats
a sinking ship drowns all rats
with their last ounce of courge
they held the night still
before slipping into less life

if life is a kite
why won’t mine find
the eddies
as a condor might
my soar is sore
wax melted
a single feather
once part of a wing
now an ornament in a headdress.

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