I love weddings
for dancing
like an ass
and top shelf scotch.
But the shindigs
make me believe something
that probably isn't true:
love, forever.
Sure, there is the girl there,
laughing and drunk,
just the right kind of
dead in the eyes to bang.
And here I am,
I live in a refrigerator
and rats eat my eyes,
normally just a bloating louse.
Flashback to death,
Joanna Newsom showed up
even after on iPhone,
even still.
In terminal dreams,
it all comes down
to the last person
you think of at night.
Am I right?
Every she knows I am right.
Every crisp bishop knows, too.
even you.