“Roasted Suits”

“Roasted Suits”

I hardly care at all

your innocent sunshine,

feckless pigeons

when a cold night blows

you feel the cuts and welts

in every hiccup

a fear of life

eyes in a bubbling stream

while rabbits stained with blue powders

dive for sunken treasure

the tattooed map undulates

on the skin of the drowned giantess

mice rush down the city streets

and no one can hear their scratch

the three-headed duke

plays with bones

less the bedsheets be spread

and all wounded tomorrows

try to keep a chin up

through cracked windshields,

lowering the frosty buckets

terror-filled life why did we come

if your body is a halo

for expired exaltations

the like of which are crowned

with raven feathers, hand spices,

and the delinquent energy

so often admired.

We’re trying to make the best of things

till we’re really not here at all

in a vicious wind

to collect our mittens back.

Tags: Nicholaus Patnaude, poem, Roasted Suits