The trouble with falling
in love with fictional characters:
once you peel back the colors
of the cartoon, there lies just
a fragile sketch.
After another layer- only
a blank page left.
Ultra Violet.
The N removed.
“No no no no” we whisper into the swirling violence of far off galaxies,
celestial bodies colliding over and over
until all light is devoured
and the N trails off into some small sound pushed
between gritted teeth. The only sign of fight left
until the violets begin to bloom.
Fresh on flesh.
I’ve never been the kind of fool
who could abandon
a bad idea—
flush goldfish just because
I’m tired of trying to remember
to keep them alive.
But plenty of goldfish
have died.
Forgetting is another matter altogether
in any weather whether you lose
or forget to keep
you’ve still got still gills
and a long sleep.
a mind is a terrible thing to have and to hold.
