like a flightless bird falling from the Lazarus beacon,
rolling off the ball onto a ledge.
She told me once a series of lies to keep me
from making a new trail, to prevent a wild fire.
Those lies now beat me with a punch and a one-two slap.
Because no matter how much thick Vaseline I dab on my
cut up eye brow, I still wipe my sweat in my eyes and blind
myself every time.
I've been trying to do it her way these last few years,
playing songs that will please her mind and heart
but her body doesn't bounce like it used to.
