I decorated with fire tornadoes.
There are delicious lemon bitters
in this gin drink. He is not snoring
anymore and I sit up a little,
hearing the bath water splash,
noticing its harsh yellow tint, my
yellow body within, the water
dyeing me, daddy alone over there.
I want to go touch him, soothe his
withdrawals but I can’t.
The wall where I painted the
maroon clouds I will never see again,
I won’t look. I am only living once
after all. I will keep looking over my
shoulder, in case I happen to see it
all again, to see for my adult self.
takes
long
I know the whole of it is probably
Alan
there, behind daddy, but that wall
baths and writes short fiction in
and…what I mean is it is sealed over
Portland, Oregon.
with an uncannily impenetrable and
He can be harassed and praised