.....

Every day my father dies
      and every day your headgear torched
                                 is open to my verses
    ten wounded pigeons on the end
                                      of a tongue
        plummet across
                    a faint Niagara of wishes
               behind our bleached apartments
                       a whole forest falls down
                   we're left staring in the scorched remnants,
                             beach chair to beach chair:
                       two by four our eyes
                             begin to dismember each other.