cherry smeared sidewalks

by Steven J. Serafiani

Saturday afternoon tethered to geese,
the cryogenic cascade of wills and wants,
a nihilist speaks,

I, a dusty creature,
rolling around in empty paint buckets,
with a sayonara smile,

I, an indentured beast of infidelity,
cheating on reflections with a pack of crimson wolves,
running a brothel in my brainy lungs,

I, a king,
metallic arms feeding me grapes and light,
aging in my mouth,
exhaling the bitter breaths,

I, the lonely hydrant,
bolts fastened tight,
not one night fire to snuff,
fixed on this concrete soil,
counting footsteps of misdirection and hind legs,

I, an envelope,
glued with foam and salt,
carriers pushing me along,
to intersections of infinity,

and into unpopulated towns of nowhere and of nothing and of boredom and of plastic thoughts and of creepy weeping willows and of lonely shoebox youth and of leavened lovers and of casket friends and of werewolf fathers and of stone castle mothers,

And to my fictional peach grove Sunday stroll,
ranting to an apathetic god I created out of the achene shroud.