Christmas in July
Face I love, turn stranger,
Fiction you wrote I find
In every line I speak.
Tossing salt over shoulders like you,
Feeling like Christ in his manger
Never too strong for wet eyes.
Time stutter then stops breathing,
It's no wonder we stop speaking.
I've been doing too much dreaming,
Old wounds. I'm stay bleeding.
Everything left I paid for.
Everything I took I gave more
And more, the cross came
But we stayed poor.
I needed more and more.
Christmas in July on layaway,
Tomorrow's holiday, split
Lines don't fade away.
I raised the bar and
Crawled underneath.
Tiny hands in the serpent's mouth,
Passed out on the bottom
Of the stairs, Tuesday afternoon
Off the handle but told me:
It was never about you, never you.
Pass on trauma like a bad poem,
That somebody else wrote.
You lost your father,
Staring at the wheel like
It's my fucking turn to go