‘this took all summer to write’

The year Tony died, my bad luck
found me
Raided my hideout with a SWAT team
Threatened my family and looted
the place
I gave them my Dignity, wrapped in silver and
flesh, I gave them
my Soul, I gave them my Name

Nothing came of it but bad ideas

I found new bones in my corners
Will I wake up pretty?
Or perhaps I’ll be disappeared
finally, for some groping archaeologist to find

and to hold, the way I’d want to be

so it all converged thus-ly
Tony’s death, then too much torment
over a tall and silent enigma, with eyes like caves
(You were
Something and Nothing at once:
Sleeping, still, within and without.) 

I hacked Happiness, then discarded its limbs
Found it wasn’t as fun as falling deeply
into holes I’d dug for myself—
I set fire to my new bones and I buried them
Whispered prayers to the wind and believed them
Opened doors for myself and ended up haunted
And hollowed out, hurt, and Everything else

It was the summer of bad ideas

Still, within, a voice saying this:
Keep the door open—
Just a bit. Just a while.

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