wilter

Sealed plastic zip-lock bags dwarf

my sense of purging the heat suppressing

the guilty snowflakes currently residing

in my throat and their words interlacing the elderly

American constitution. We write as the children

of our fathers consumed by the retracted

colors of light we mourn like token

books and flatten like heavily processed

hair. My ears tinker with time as

the toilet paper tepee

dwindles in what once a linen closet now

what is to be said about prior

passing and the pasting of my head

to his.