midsummer
did you see the pigeons fall?
baby the skies are burning
fires like you wouldn’t believe
float out on high rises
through the open window
with unguarded velocity.
sunsets trailing god’s mistake
settle in your palm.
the small ember under your skin
tears wildly through the flesh —
then drops like a housefly,
like a plumb line.
baby are you high?
you do know
that you won’t die from this.
but you wouldn’t survive
either, the sea
that sucked itself
and the hanging thread
of entire stars
into dry introspection,
or something as soft
as a serrated maple leaf
hot on your soul,
a headache ablaze.
we couldn’t exist,
we never stood a chance.
everything,
everything,
fractures
within a minute.
still,
was it worth it,
when the coal blushed its fearful demise
and the firefly suspended
a hair’s breadth
before pain
that you felt
the beautiful tomorrow?
