Pill Shaped Skeletons Poem by gregory collins

in the hour before dawn
hand me the sunlight equally
feel my eyes breaking when you walk out of the room

now i will never get tired of turning leaves in paradise
or being broke or broken -
scissored by the calm that we are all not alike anymore

but we were yellow in the sun once
dusk still difficult to say
kind of like the future had been removed
by a man who swore he could take care of it

and i also used the stars as blankets
the final pattern of dawn tugged from your arm
when your eyes wake up
and the ceiling breaks open into the sky

and this turn of events has a counterpart
confirming what my teacher Rimbaud says'
Beauty can come from an ugly past,
and gossip has always been sort of a password in my ears.