finishing

Damselflies are humming about fire in a low pool
with other damselflies in the pool. They’re
drowning inside this goddess-like flytrap.
Her triggers are clueless against
the sky.

Very clueless.
They sat on her teeth, one by one. Their legs break
inside her mouth.
Candles disappearing in the pies smell
of coffee.

You had decided to steal moods from this eclectic song
so you will write till one
in the night.
And wake up by eight to believe that home is sad
and you are too.
The dwellers stop to dwell by the sea
and jump and die in it.
I have watched people
till
they disappear
on a turn.
I went through the pencil marks on my poems
that remind me
how not to let the ends be abrupt.
I do not erase. I hope they disappear.
This undisturbed kitchen has brown,
small cockroaches exploring inside the sink tap.
I look at it while I sweat.
I need light to write. I haven’t cared how,
while I write,
the light falls on your head.
You sleep quietly
and you coil in dreams.

I woke up by ten. The people were moving
and doing things.
I believed that home is sad.

Morning will disappear tomorrow on waking
and I
will get to believe that nothing
can be done
about
home.

Damselflies could live a few days
more
but it sat on this goddess-like flytrap’s teeth.
They sat on her teeth, one by one.
I can still look at the kitchen
without turning to window.

Wake up by eight to believe that home is sad
and you are too.

Damselflies are blue.
They hum about fire in a low pool.
They float inside
that stomach.