on the golden hue outside after the thunderstorm

walden freeman

as i noticed the golden hue
reaching into my window
during the post-thunderstorm sunset
i swore it was real
and imagined myself the happy captain
of new yacht
after trading this light
to the local pawnshops and jewelers
ready to pay top tangible dollar
for any memory worth letting go of
but i reconsidered, leslie

because i imagined . . .
maybe god had forgiven us all
most of all, me
and given us a brand new way of observing aquariums and zoos and kennels
and given us responses we'd never even thought to dream possible
but my face has been horribly disfigured
by flame and fireant and firearm and arm alone

i sit parched and keeping myself away from the sink
because i no longer trust the city water
the flouride makes me sick
and the clawed crabs clawing ashore in atlantic city
have no remorse on my romantic feet

i no longer stand

i just whistle, syllables and some numbers but mostly
your address
and your waist size
i've begun to lit every fuse i've removed from candles
and i've tried in vain to bruise
but the floors of the local grocery stores were so full of dead fruit
that i didn't want to be a statistic
i did not want to decay but i also did not want to be swept
into trash cans or canyons of forgotten bodies
of allies of the troops we supported decades before
it was cool

when the sun set
in motion, a new night

DopeBeastie

interestingly confusing