strung clothes on the line
young ***** wind whipping blind
pigeons dropping bombs again
shooting balloons of estrogen

waiting in the frozen rain
splintered from a winter’s sun
skin peeling off like an onion
dropped into a stir-fry
wilting violet butterfly

It was the last time
choking on the words
trampled as herds of buffalo
crushed into red peppered flakes
rigging the sauce
stepping on the brakes