The Lighthouse Keeper
The lighthouse keeper kills his mother.
It’s the same old story. I walk the neighborhood,
head bent low with frost. This could be a crate
filled with sea glass. Two poems rubbing against
one another on our porch. I’ve abandoned
one or both, sharpened my longest nail, filed it
to a point, shoveled snow and ash to snort you up
my nose. I’m tired of straddling a white
picket fence. We breakfast on Tab and Tylenol.
You fuck your mother over and over, rattle her
like teeth in your back pocket. I start drawing finches
with black crested tiaras. It’s all in the way
we walk, my friend. Seaweed tied to our wrists.
Naked-eyed I look out to sea. The lighthouse keeper
has stifled her heartbeat finally. The light shines
through blue Siamese eyes, remote enough
for one of us left and still afloat.
This selection comes…
View original post 195 more words