Self-Immolation

 

 Cremators can't differentiate

Between stitches and dental floss

 

No amount of pity

Will make you legend

 

Toss these in a salad

Use brass tongs

 

Drizzle in children's tears

Falling off monkey bars

 

Hitting the ground

Feels like adulthood

 

Tastes of coffee

And a hint of Canadian whiskey

 

I left my soul

In a train station locker

 

Left my heart

In Massachusetts

 

As flakes dance down

They melt on my tongue

 

I wave my arms on the street

It looks like you

 

 Published at Twenty Two Twenty Eight