—DON’T WASTE YOUR WISHES

 

 

Rylan

 

 (after The National)

 

that near-winter

between fact and fiction

you found the envelope

but still pulled open

those crooked shades

of mine

takes a lot of

swallowed but’s

to be a straight-up

saint like that

when it’s so easy

to be blank

confused and cursed

blame it all on me

my excuses my guts

corroded from vats

of imploded cabernet

there’s a little bit

of hell in everyone

but you but god

you’re good too good

for me

it’s hot in here

isn’t it boiling

is that your hand

is that you

picking me up

off the floor

yet again