kites

walden freeman

in memory:

of all my memories
the ones where you smile
stick out like thumbs
sore from hitching rides
and burying hatchets
in my back

while i was passed out cold
on your bed you stabbed
my spine into debris
that washed up in the ducts
that keep my eyes from submerging
and turning the same shade of blue

as the skin of the sailor
that fell off the ship
on purpose, by accident
my eyes make too much noise
when they blink
and i don't miss a thing

kites fly in my lungs and pollute my arguments
i don't miss a thing