Second Opinion

THE GLOW INSIDE ANOTHER RED-CROSSED PELVIS

WILL DRAIN WHEN THEY CRUSH THAT LITTLE BULB.

MENSTRUAL MINSTRELS DRIFT IN

FROM THE WEEDLESS GARDEN.

THE IMMACULATE BLUE FLAME

FROM THE FAKE FIREPLACE

BURNS THE CORNER OF MY EYE.

CAN’T STOP STARING AT NOTHING.

A GLOVED HAND OPENS THE DOOR,

AND THE MAN ENTERS SOOTHINGLY,

WITH AN AIR OF RESPECT FOR THE DEAD.

ENCOURAGES US TO LOOK ON THE BRIGHT SIDE.

BLACK PANTS HIDE YOUR PAIN AFTERWARDS,

AND THERE’S A COOKIE ON A NAPKIN

AND A PAPER CUP OF RED JUICE

TO REPLACE YOUR STRENGTH.

WE DRIVE HOME WITHOUT BLINKING

BECAUSE THE SUN ISN’T REAL.

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