a thousand and then four of us
got burned as we flew toward the sun.
when we got there it was a party:
the people and walls who dress in white
the carpet who dresses in blue.
the cowboy who sings for everything he hates.
and napping in the stale dirty light of the upstairs bedroom
i found a ghost dressed like a sweet grandmother and she was honey.
“im going to the desert.
sorry if i have offended you.
i have lived forever and therefore have no social filter.”
i knew crying would do no good
so i finished my cereal and told her goodbye.
