Yes, I Am Talking To You

Ah!
let’s 'fess up to
firecrackerjack snacks
and a piggy bank built
and filled to be spilled and broken
hammy fat fingers
pinch clammy cold coins
all the leaves left
wither a sickly brittle brown
I’m dying to tell you I’m dying
I don’t need a reason
You’ve got yourself such a comfortable trap
yes I am talking to you
yes I know this is shameless
yes I am talking to you
You’ve got yourself such a comfortable trap
A matinee of sunshine ribbons
on a sheetless mattress
moonlighting as swooning
moonlight isn’t really from the moon at all
I am shining smiles and flowery glows
I am drunk in the breeze
in the park chasing kites and splashing puddles
forget meknots in my gut
that’s what you get
we nibbled butter cookie rings to the knuckle
artichoke trophies choked down
through nevada sandy enzymes
past ribs choking scorching hearts
down to an autotrophic stomach
I called her june, until that late spring
quite possibly march leap year
automatic trophies aren’t shit