My serenity

My serenity

written on warm dishcloths,

and paper placemats

with endless drawings

of terminally ill rattles;

the false premises of marijuana

smoking hook-ups  

climbing my old suffocations.

Sometimes they twinkle

because of the deceptive reflection

and turbulence of the wild,

the useless surrender of my desire.

The wind of my anguish

chases after you with a great spell,

a recipe for all your epochs,

a total, fleeting countryside,

a cry from thirsty mouths full of supplications.

My serenity is a sad, lonely Fairy Tale,

petrified guano dispersed in the air,

columns of dead bats burning, skin grafts

from an obese man inhaling blood.

I'm going to sew you a devotional scapular

with the words, COME BACK!