I stand (a flower
dripping rain off petals
to roots
as we hang the man who
built the gallows, and
I bite my fist to save
my tongue) an emotional
amputee, sifting the sky
for someone to rely on
or at least someone
to blame stopped
in the middle of the street,
brain tangled
like cold sheets
gazing
like a gravestone
feeling gloriously temporary.
