I sat down in the chair, and my neck broke. But I didn't know it was broken until several hours later. If I was ever a kid, I did it in secret.
But this is for the girl that showed up alone to the party.
And this is for that old Native American living alone across America in the oldest bus stations. I see you both hold up your ends of the bargain. Got your distant-photograph-face.
And it tastes like a treadmill.
Continuing walking through weed clouds. Of holding--shoulder jerk and broken arms--the front door open to say goodnight in rainier neighborhoods of I bet you didn't think about lifelessness.
Paint darker pigment into Margaret.