after romeo died

Romeo oscillates between his eyelids; jury summons

to furrow his eyebrows - tearful for dead kin and sin -

Benvolio with his green sneakers laughed once, his age

worn simply like a newborn in his palm. A metaphorical

disaster - don't take it all so literally - don't lay so feral

while you sleep; sleep to dream of curses and nurses to

wash clean his wounds. Dried to a flush, blood on the

rush through veins. Fingertips. When he says my name its like a

whip. Drug induced trip to some separate landscape that

doesn't filter through the sun anymore. Romeo, Romeo

give us some love so we can carry on - move it along -

stop the throng of it all. Self (ish) is still of the flesh, but

the words I say catch on the moonlight like eyelashes, red

and tired from the undulation. The thin line of the past, and

Benvolio tattooed like a self-addressed stamp envelope

mails peace across the radio wires like a king proclaiming

that the regime a fake - its time to make the accurate allegorical,

and let the beauty of this grit up like graffiti. Graphite led

molded to form the four corner of the bed I sleep in - with him

and his pain every once in a while. Romeo is a curse, a burst

of childish anguish. Exposure to the weakness of us all. Tearful

for dead kin and for the sin - of it all.