A COSMIC TOAD

stuck in the garnet of my brisling withering
like a cold spell on a warm day 
with a love less kind
than real love… but the castle 
came with a mote-
so there’s that.

[ in God's eye. ]

II

the tunneling through picnics
and the arduous task of asking for permission
to believe; comes with it’s groceries stacked
in mostly cellophane, feigning the death of blue moths
and black cherubs… thunderous with the wonders
of giving a damn, Anyway.

III

all the pencil sharpeners are ironic
and it can’t be helped.

IV

so everything is where
you left it before you
got here
and only you
care…

for now.