Poems flown away

The light was on,

And it won’t die.

A box brimming,

It can’t hold no more.

It vomited, given up,

It was fed up with a lot.

A roll of tape was bought

It lied there on the side

Stuffing laughter and tears

Dried up beer bottles,

Used as ash trays for nights

Scattered candy wrappers

Into the trash bags

Dust bunnies looking like cat

Rolling itself in more dust

Purring for treats

Reminders of what’s not there

Of course, there was never a cat

And there was never a month

Since that day sogged my pillows

Hearts like coral reefs

Dead and covered in moss

That’s why the box,

That’s why the dust.

Wishing that tears bring forth life

Instead it brought none

It’s just water on the pages

It’s just clouds giving birth

To more clouds

I left what the box vomited

Leaving as quickly as I could

But left in that brimming

Was my being

On a pile of ashtrays and beer bottles

Battered and bruised; covered in loss

Bones for the next owner to see

And throw in another trash bag

I hope it’s a black one

Sturdy enough for sharp edges

To not cut thru

People shouldn’t see

The gore of that body

The ink that was flowing

Flesh should be buried.

Boxes big enough

for all grief.