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split droner
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when you can’t express yourself
it’s a falcon that suddenly drops
into the wrong canyon
with vines stretching across
for hundreds of miles
when you don’t want your landscape
it’s a trumpet wedged in the storm drains
when you said remember I can’t
it’s a buffalo with a broken leg
becoming a statue
on a wild gold plateau
when you fight against the amplifications
it’s a loose rooster walking through
the morning remnants of a state fair
picking at the ground for popcorn
when you sit and stare at the prismatic trails
of a rocket launch from the nearby base
it’s worthless to change the subject
when you wave the white flag
it’s a white flag waving in a pale hand
when you can’t make the right decision
it’s staring at the back of a spoon
after you’ve wiped it dry
with an old towel
when you stop reaching out for others
it’s a corroded junkyard
beyond the outskirts of town
melting in the sun
memorializing the new rusts
when you stop thinking about wanting to die
it’s the one yellowed page
in a brand new book
when you bury the past
it’s a sleepwalker
making it all the way
to the empty intersection
when you admit that you can’t be alone anymore
it’s a falcon, a brand new book, a trumpet
mornings, rocket trails, a sleepwalker
a big canyon, rust, a white flag
an empty intersection, a buffalo and a spoon
pretending to become your company
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020921
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