Sorry, Pegasus Poem by Luke J. Holt

our crests dont match
silly
i dont have what you have
i shriek curtains of grey gas instead

drizzle is yellow
must is the quiet daughter of years
i court her on a terrace of trickery

to create age
in a land of new
to create gladness
in a river of now?

dont make me beg on rainbows
you are as reasonable as the lunar tides can be
you can delegate how many shards i may keep
leave me an urn and one pied cloak

allow me to cough up a witches cauldron
the garbs you wore for me will not fit you now
but they, too, are yours

their smells and fabrics are of you

it is the cloth that identifies nostalgia as addictive
like pot seems and your kisses certainly are

i fix in ruin
lying bleeding under shelves of salt-shakers
repeating a common name in reverence
as if it were the first of god
bluster from windows make flurries fall
grain sized bee-stings replace a spectacular vacancy

i return to 1997 a hero
to revisit my boy self
connected by a thick rubber cord to Nickelodeon
and i tell him what fools we lovers are

sorry, Pegasus