a pulse without a heart
drinking under last year’s
milky way. I remember

once you told me
papa painted amber into his own gray sky
the world films along
a journey. my refuge

is a blind mermaid
on the way out of metaphor. We come back
for this old earth
the money and the sedatives.

The engine is sheltered
from its own savage past. We lost
helter skelter in a rainbow

a pulse is foolsgold
for living characters. We don’t know the
right thing when its said
we don’t know the right way to go
when its time to get out.

April [10/15]