Caterwaul
like you mean it,
gamut warning
be damned.
Someone said something
I don't care
to remember
this close to December.
August was loaded
language and history.
The barrel still burns
trigger glutted.
Hugs all around
or not. I picked you
daisies out of season.
Don't ask me how I got them.
I am trying to love
without specifics.
Grant me that.
Nonnegotiable.
Needle eaters.
World Beaters.
And cans of
spring fired worms.
Have you ever
had the pleasure
of uncorking
something like that?
You give hugs like a straw man
and I am okay
with your alien-ness
and not okay with touching you.
Asking too much,
and I, not enough
of myself. The wind
still rolls.
When did you stop
loving the leaves at your feet.
Waves of them
and the dying heat?
