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
