Brooder

My old man put a dent in me, when I was four.
He broke me in like a pack mule, and there really is no coming out of that.

The days are long again, the cherry blossoms are deep in pink and the geese are combing the golden down covering their chicks and this gets me through.

All my mouths are hungry for you, the sleeping mouth, the walking mouth, the heavy and depraved mouth and they are asking if you still think of me.

If it matters I stopped dancing after we parted ways. My limbs and bones felt stupid, aimlessly flailing the air around me.