I feel like the last matchstick
broken in half
waiting for someone to come
light me up – so I can burn ‘em –
burn ‘em good. 
Sometimes I’m a flickering light bulb
ready to be changed
trying futilely to hold on
to that last bit of filament,
 to make it last. 

Sometimes I’m a torn up shoe
on the side of a freeway
laughing at pileups.
Big billows of smoke
and the screaming, ah,
a symphony.

Sometimes I’m the ant
stuck on your shoe
stranded across the street,
the indistinguishable
untouched  week-old road kill,
the mattress splayed halfway
across the bike lane
like a stretch of beef
so that bikes swerve cars honk. 
Dogs piss on me.

Sometimes I’m the little potion Juliet downed,
Sometimes Romeo whispering
sweet-nothings to a corpse
knowing  the Beyond to be a brick backed
funnel to nothing to be found,
but the gun yet rests at my temple

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