In my attempts to shelter rain,

the sun still sneaks inside through blind spots,

stretching stark nights wide awake

& making mornings gorgeous vine clots.

(Thanks.)

O, ¿will I miss another bus

on sidewalks paved with flashing chills?

Why, yes, I will—all because o’ the sun,

who never has to pay the bills.

(What a bum.)

Hey.

Stop cutting up my meters, son—

I must walk 10 to reach my destination.

¿Or was that 8?… Fuck…

“To wait this line you must have patience.”

(¿What?)

But I don’t want to end, my friend—

to leave my friend, the cheddar oak.

¿Who needs birdseed when I could tend

to pinecones pancaked under spokes?

(Shut up—it makes perfect sense.)

2 doves on
creaky branches called
a couplet

departing—
branches sing no more,
“O, fuck it.”

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