And Another Thing…

Something simple and quiet is what the poem aspires to be. Me, I'm a man in a sheet wandering through the graveyard with one combat boot and one pink slipper. I look up at the stars through my eyeholes, piss on an unmarked plot, sleepwalk home through the old neighborhood. A fern in a noose hangs from the gutter, willows in the yard gently stirring like a woman’s hair. A woman in a mass grave with her eyes open, watching TV. Porches empty of sawdust. I stumble up one to my hammock covered with books. Doesn’t anybody whittle anymore? I think, taking out my pen.