I don’t think we’re nothing
at all
in my kitchen
counting sagging balloons
popping each shriveling mass
with the animalistic joy
of little kids
who just discovered
how
to
destroy
one, two, three,
the gnawing
four
lustful,
two hungry
jaws
five, six
to occupy
seven,
mouths too long,
eight
de –flate
-ed.
O,
What a pretty celebration on grey linoleum!
red, green, blue, yellow, orange,
red, green, blue, yellow, orange
is death always this vibrant?
three months ago everything was up in the air,
but
I still don’t think
we’re nothing
now?
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