Your Tears Choke My Throat Like Smoke Poem by gregory collins

If you think tears dry on their own. Then you
probally think the dark side of the sun sleeps in

my house. That the sun has yellow wings
and crawls through the forest of your hair,

like its seizing darkness with a fishhook.
But let me tremble before your lips and doubt time.

Crying is just to creep through the ears of the eyes,
and i wonder where do we come from

and where do we go. How do we wait
in the late afternoon in soft warm clothes

and still feel cold? How is the ocean
waiting for us from the leaves, and how does

the sap rise to the highest branches as it is like a fever.
I guess i'll just lift me into this cart of my soul.

Take my young body away to where others died at midnight.
To where the smiles of a gun turns away and cries;

and the bullets squeeze the trigger,
and the threads of the sky snap on the distant horizon.

The soul looks up and laughs dreaming the names
of every drop. It knows about the pocked face of shamelessness.

It knows what stifles the breath example after example,
and rotting leaves even apologize to the clouds like exhausted darkness.