Albatross

Because of God you 

scooped out my lungs like a child’s Jack o-Lantern and made the seeds

into acidic clothespins I could dry my day old hate on 

in July’s Chill.

Your anger makes me feel young again.

The Duke of Root-Bear Floats

Half the time I swear your head

would look better collided with the 60’s photographs

and Coca Cola bottles along the walls of some old styled restaurant

in Fort Langley.

Though only a tenth of the time

I quite like your Tuesday smile in ratio to my

desire for bigger feet to steal your cowboy boots,

I’d imagine you’d look beautifully disheveled when emerging from

a compressed, singing Jukebox

where I would take the opportunity to steal more of your fries

and hide the camera so you couldn’t delete anymore pictures of you

smiling.