a squint in the garden of
everyday static

down-the-street dandelions cry
open the door
to your blistered carpet

The daisies lie prostrate in the squall
the bluebells dribble orison-strains, icicles

Snow junkies, carrawayed heart
your teeth are preaching mourning
bed-breaks and poetry, a lie for god overall.

What linoleum meant once –
muscle tee’d children
rhythmblinks filtered with limonana.

The quilt exhumed
                jalopy me
vomiting crushed tarantulas
                orchids, entire planets
a flood lost
on the way to what is real.

So, I praise you,
                worshippers of the rose quartz
                metaphor mixologists
Who knows what is real
                                       or rhetorical

how to
                make a heart intentional
                                a wound shallow
                                a hammer a cuneiform
how to
                suicide by quinine
                reconstitute frost.