become my neck,
be my cartoon piano
that falls on my brother
who doesn't exist
in the first place.
laugh out loud
at my heart,
like it's a comedian
at an old nightclub,
bombing before the jazz.
here's the thing,
I belong to the church
of slow wits,
and I am never going
back to lonely roads.
falling hard,
sinking slow,
never to be recovered,
there are pieces
of me everywhere.