yielding at gates

crossing would be the end-

watching from the window

chariots and kids screaming with bows and bows

gods feeding horses

thunder storms at the tips of fingers

the heat of the furnace lingers:

crossing would be the end-

pleasure on a patterned plate

love on patterned sheets

sleets of snow below my feet

and now i am yielded at the gates-

watching kids play with bows and bows

and i see the end in bright lights

a silver key in my left and the lock in my right

but

i don’t belong

banana loaf as tribute

might as well be mud pie

for tribute to a god

i question you

your existence your plans your methods

which books you open when you have your own question

who answers your calls when you feel lost

do you feel mortal anxiety- depression

do you eat ice cream and watch twenty-seven dresses

to forget how she use to wear all those dresses-

do you ever wish, you could be us:

live, bleed, and die

do you ever wish we’d forget your number

so the line would be silent so you can catch up on game of thrones

do you paint on your spare time

smoke cook fuck read on your spare time

or is it just us