the long weekend
was over too quickly
the real world
rubberbands back
reasserting itself
with anxietal pining
three days with the kids
makes two weeks alone
sting in a thousand
paper cuts across my tongue
leaving only the words
with no one to hear them
sitting concealed in
the back of my throat

too aware of my failings
this scarred monster
still drawn to the flame
to feel a little anything
a hyperbolic pinata filled
with electrified hornets
begging to be bludgeoned
the enigma of an open book
incapable of being taken
seriously because no one
understands being genuine
in a world of filtered truth
while everyone laughs looking
for the obtuse punchline
hidden in plain blindspots
a fool rotting on the vine
a mere thirteen knots from
any real sense of salvation

i cannot bring myself
to be a burden just because
of something insignificant
like screaming at the ceiling
as i fashion aluminum hats
to keep the sparrows from
making me dream of another her
who never wanted a fool
just the way he made her feel
when he rambled endlessly
my dreamcatcher hung itself
rather than another evening
spent lost kissing her flesh