"dust"

smoking patio
breathing pine bush
leaves of green razor.

the march leaf hanging like a crippled
butterfly–

Your dark glasses and oily skin.
I speak, the wind’s teasing nod
and yours’ indistinguishable.
You belch carcinogens, the spilling
smile of smoke, grinning contours
Thick. My sympathy is rotten honey
burnt faintly when you move to ash.

A starless morning,
the cuffed breeze,
sky’s crisp condescension with
the blueness of your monster:
to speak in taxidermy, words
empty sound bytes
your mouth reeling celluloid
stuffed with black feathers. I
will not see you long again, it
should grow dark tonight.

You will talk your way back into it