yellow pale bright

a monday poem

we have to write hit songs for the alley cats.
we have to say words like “caterwauling.” I have to wail.

when you yell at me I answer in the scared voice of a child.
the day comes to me like a fluff ball from heaven. dandelion.
i’m a little snow angel again. which is

how we must have seemed, years ago, standing in the fields.
mud applied in a mean star to our chests. playing keep away.

that hundred year old house. its ghosts.

hamlet starts with a ghost and that’s the point. that’s why he’s mad.
he’s seen beyond the world and he can’t go back.