relevatory suicides

it is a selfish thing to breathe,
to taste the crisp brevity of air
only to deaden your tongue;
to look upon the breathless dawn
and contemplate the greater beauty of sundown.

Make yourself a blanket;
lay still upon the asphalt with furled lids
to feel the breeze of rubber
whooshing just beyond your fingertips;

traffic jams

Make yourself a blanket; tiptoe
holding it out like wings,
and leap like ballerina boys
from the hanging lip of brick to the earth below

land on somebody’s trampoline

Make yourself a blanket, hold steady
your prize piece pried from the filing cabinet,
and pull;

the chamber locks.

Make yourself a blanket, soft clouds,
lay still and dream of the luminous eyes of a little boy begging to live

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