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!