Pulling up to the Vine and Hill driveway you drive me mad

With your pin-up braids and neck tie wrists

With red rouge black blue stippled spray-paint makeup

Coat like scatterfall dewstained carpets

Sensuality in divine with rose and jasmine

He took that away from us that day

Your father died

Candles were lit

But no one sat at the bus stop in the rain

Top little bottom high

Round circles in dove balls and lemon-smeared straw

Golden sunrise at dawn and the scissors used to slit his wrists

Some knew him

None confessed

There was no cleanup of the mess

Nothing could have made amends

So it rested

To this day, I pace

I quit smoking

I drink moderately

Vote liberally

The punk guitar band is no more

And ginger cinnamon lattes make their appearance at the breakfast table

With your starlit children of two and five

Regenerating the loss of loss of powerful loss

Under the Earth where worms rip through my nose

And fungus grows

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