Your head on fire.
All day I wonder what to do.

No Poem Is the Only Poem. No Story Is the Only Story. No Kings.
Your head on fire.
All day I wonder what to do.
part of me is always hidden buried beneath a wedding ring & a husband
when the next day she asks why, i say, "we'll stay on this earth because." there are too many ways to finish a sentence for it to ever be finished.
But watch that parapet of bare wired concrete: the white gull landing paused and posed wings up: a smiling gymnast girl who knows she was perfect.
I wrote a Preface for the refrigerator, which she never got around to reading.
All that should have been Stay loosely tied Dangling on a string