"I may not know my flowers, but I know a bitch when I see one."
Dead sugar straw grass collapses underfoot
and I worry the sun is gonna set an old gospel example of my queer ass out in this Hellfire
joining the birds on the back end of the ragged draft
Crowning the mountains with the snowshoe trees;
Devil hares landlocked on the horizon laugh at the reservoir burns
& the TV has gone down to static & test patterns
& all the bunny ears are bent to the weight of the aluminum foil
somehow the gold lights on the carousel keep going long past the witching hour &
my lungs feel crushed like Pepsi cans out here atop this wave of lonesome starshine ocean reach a
spindly arm out to graze
the cobweb clouds, watching as they ripple like the top of a stillwater pond
Just one time want to feel my heart among them
Feel responsible for a lot of burning today
Night sky opens up, resembling the thick swatch of cardboard we got off a box of ramen from Wal-Mart out the garage earlier to test out the spread on my younger brother's new buckshot & I listen to the grease seeping out the seas of disconnect.
I didn't pick this blood.
I know I don't belong.
I can hear the gentle laps of the wind making the branches scrape along the sycamore trees & I would love to just drop every worry at that instant & live the life I know I was born to, breathing long hard pulls of fresh grass & unspoiled tree lines to finally tear the illness out my lungs like Shaq used to rip down backboards for the straining hearts of Orlando.
But I can't.
It would be rude to leave the family reunion so soon after eating.
Clem Flowers (They/ Them) is a soft spoken southern transplant living in spitting distance of some mountains in Utah. Maker of a fine omelet, but scrambled egg game needs some fine tuning. Nb & bi, they live in a cozy apartment with their wonderful wife & sweet calico kitty. They can be found on Twitter at @hand_springs777
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