prelude for the suicide madrigals

song of grey light, 4 a.m. and
sober down rain-smeared streets


believe or
don’t believe


no wings either way and the
houses here all look the same


crows worry the bones
of small animals


this man i know has been planning
his escape for 24 years now


woman he loves presses dried
flowers into her book of days


tells me she’s not sure
she’s actually alive
and i’m afraid to answer


been breathing underwater for
a long time now
and pretending it’s enough


been thinking about a death
that others can profit from


a film for sylvia,
cold silence for ted
 

possibility of sunshine
later in the week


keep asking assia what she thinks
about this, but all she ever
does is turn away