monarch kisses the angry grille of my car
i look in the rearview mirror
and say i'm sorry out loud.
downtown is dead
whistles in my ears with lifeless, sardonic tones.
i squint in the mock-sunlight
and reach blindly for a bullet to pierce this early morning aftertaste.
i try not to go back and forth across busy streets
but if i stay on one side
i swear, i might lose my mind.
noon brightness rises to sweltering
melts the tattoos right off my skin
puddles drip into sewers
and i lay in the street gutters and cry.
and stretch my fingers.
nothing painted on my pale.
i am too adult for this:
i am too adult for bawling in the dirty
for touching the ground.
in my white-pantied youth i was not afraid
i let the sun lick my tender skin
and erase the pictures on my arms and legs.
today i walk in practical shoes
i am polite on the phone because i am grown up.
monarch waves goodbye in wind-tossed, backward glances
*i love you and you love me*
downtown forgives my messy hair with giant, mirrored windows
and follows me home with dead breath on my shoulders.
bare skin dragging me along,
chasing after lost tattoos that tell the story of my life.
home, james.
fairy tales.
wolves.
