It may be poignant,
  at its best sublime

But not remembered,
—if it doesn’t rhyme

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2017)
            To ‘Don McClean’

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<o[[[><

when you feel like
you're drowning


learn to be a fish!.

[10W]

'Heres to all the spoons with holes in them...
To picking out your own switch.
'Heres to leather belts with holes in them...
To sleeping out in a ditch.
'Heres to those of us with holes in them...
To keeping far from the witch.
'Heres to mothers with holes in them...
To striking a hopeless snitch.

"you have no reason to stay.” The thought wakes you up from your sleep. You can’t shake it, so you watch the rain hit the window sill and wonder if anyone would notice your absence.

“You have no reason to stay” now repeats to the metronome of the second hand on the clock. Over a bowl of cereal and antidepressants.

“You have no reason to stay” takes the form of used tissues lining the carpet and coffee that has gone cold.

“I have no reason to stay” you tell your mother as she combs through your ***** hair and kisses your head.

“Yes you do, your reason to stay is your heart that is still beating-proof that your story isn’t finished quite yet. You can’t give up on an entire story just because the first few chapters are dark.