i surmise failure to
thrive
forms a fist like
the glove
fits
loner likely
to be
hit
by self-inflict
stick,
a longing to shed
dad skin
and
seek shiny slit
to slip
in.
mental health
dismissed as threat
to public,
swatting bat wings
at pass-out
spots,
pitching buttered
popcorn
at
parade of lawmen
mowing-
overperforming-
hand in
coat
plucking tightrope
to hear it
snap
zap crackle pop
of coke-can
candle..
wax sucked from
the tap.
i’ve grown fond
of ebb
and
glow felt through
cemetery
snow,
no tear a waste on
face gone
stone
to face what’s
gone
before lilies
bask at
dawn.
within body,
i seek distance
crowd the cage-
choking hazard comfort,
confines of contours
are womb, fluid imbued,
i crawl into
to imagine self unborn.
ever humming unsettled
these hymns of
the mad
in a key that
could strip
the shine from
life’s tip.
hands in the garden 
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