February 13th

Late.

despite an eternal devote, I

cannot note: nothing beyond haste

was made to the empty institute

where the air bag questions remain.

ask father to be with me, but

eighty percent fail the course

life treats them, I wonder now

what happens to the other twenty.

hurrying inside only to see

a wife begging for one last

valentine’s surprise we won’t

regret.  Instead: a box consists

of husband attire.  Waiting.

in five hour minute increments

perhaps maybe the surgeon

won’t lie.  perhaps maybe

sons of adam will be forgiven

and the floral gates of eden

relinquished to us, to an non-

existence in a Madagascar.

whispers in madness cast stones

at my eyes to crack in shame

the ongoing sinus infection that

plagues behind my face despite.

too Late.  He is

now reposed at five twenty five.

brother embraces mother while

man embraces man, holding on

to the seeping warmth within.

fingers run along departed roads

the cruel feet holds, my hands caress

ignoring the chalked right hand with

a gaping maw my God left behind.

      my eyes show the scale at less

                       three fourths an ounce.