flowers for my moon

‘another fucking phone call’

five people have died these past two months. suicide to overdose. ages 19 to maybe 30. the oldest worked with me and had a heart attack. his body could

not take it. i understand that. my brother calls me and tells me we have to talk- he has just dodged death again, apparently for

the last time. i tell him eventually we’ll both run out of luck he knows.

he was purifying himself in the parking lot of walmart taking off all his stolen jewelry and clothes ready to meet God. instead he

made a deal and called me. my body grows weaker. i am only a passenger. i take off my shitty clothes hoping when i wake up

everything sounds muffled, like when snow has just hit the ground but i almost can't remember; it seems like it hasn't snowed in years. your phone rings and you roll over in bed to answer it. you are naked and the blinds are not pulled all the way. small slats of sunlight expose themselves on your body. the television is on downstairs, the shower is running. you hang up the phone and your lips are leaking all over your breasts like warm winter milk. you ask me to leave. each stair thumps loudly like it hasn't snowed in years and the television is off.

last night was a little flipped on speed so it was 6am and i was watching the alleys of Nashville under a streetlamp. a boy was training his dog. the dog kept biting the boy’s hand. the boy would not say anything and let it happen many times. he prayed in his room before going to bed. the dog’s name was the path to righteousness. his face was like a pimp's in Philadelphia. he prayed in his room before going to bed. i watched a little girl skip to her mother’s car. she jumped excitedly waiting. i saw her from a McDonald’s bench across the street. i let my cigarette go out in my hand. she was smiling balloons, a birthday party to get in her mother's car. i have not eaten in two days. i walked home and saw a dead oriole with a stick shoved through it’s middle. it’s feathers stuck out at odd angles and colors. there’s a guy who jerks off in the alleys on the east side of Nashville. i know a girl who’s sure she’s seen him. "you can see his head kick back in ecstasy in the moonlight under a streetlamp." the Philadelphia pimp drags his girl by the wrist everywhere. i saw her bite another hooker's ear off. i saw the ear come off in all odd angles and spitting blood.

I.

i have an angel that i carry in my pocket. it protects me while i am asleep and when i am driving my car. i can still feel the pull of the world.             i wonder if i have brushed lips with death for the last time.

II.