from what I have learned
stutter-stepping down hills
in best vests,
is that I could fill a lounge quiz,
and an extra plastic bag
with pointless shit
most of which
I wish I could forget.
leave the motorcycle.
leave the gun.
leave the trees.
leave the pineapple.
leave the tomahawk.
leave the lion.
leave the shadows.
my desk has already forgotten me writing on it.
your dress has already forgotten me taking it off.
twenty one days from now,
my feet will still stink,
my heart will still beat,
your kitchen might miss me,
your stars definitely,
but I am not dead,
so call me on the river,
and we will rinse off.