celebrating alone in my mineral salts
and tears, how long I lit the candles.
how many candles did I light to this?
and all the wrought years,
black-etched marks throughout the
notes, tucked in pillows,
to own something.
to own something other than
lament. the loss that gives lament
and you hung
what’s more pleasing:, the salt lined doorway
proved me right. all who wish
me evil/gone are robbed of sight.
you’ve never set foot in this place
and you never ever will.
your black tassle swings
on knob of closet
my step heavy
through the halls,
this next section is called