My hair flaps in the wind
like a
fist-full of grey ribbons,
as I
stand on the ridge top
pouring
curses
into the
sky.
No one
hears me,
which is
lucky,
I guess,
unless
hearing is
a good thing.
Unless
knowing is a good thing.
All the
happy families
curdle
in my mouth.
Their
photos curl
and
singe at my touch.
A picket
fence of sins
stretches
before
me,
and I kiss
each one
goodbye,
though I
love them so.
Then I shiver out of my straight jacket
and run towards the event horizon of my life
curious to see how it ends.
