—OUT HERE THE BIRDS DON’T SING, OUT HERE THE BELL DON’T RING

 

 

what am I

 

I tell the therapist I’m

broken not busted

but he just smirks

like a toppled tombstone

or the death valley sun

I unpack my duffel

toss my dirty underwear

on the floor but he just smirks

like a taxidermied lament or

canceled ryan adams song

spinning in a loop no one ever hears

I tell the therapist there’s

an Uber in the alley

a limo idling in my throat

that it’s prom night

which is why I’m wearing

this bloody boutonnière

but he just smirks and

swallows two-fifty flat

I tell the therapist I’ve

got nothing left to say

but he just looks at me

mona lisa-like winking with

one eye fixed on the window

the other waltzing out the door