Tangle

There’s a knot in the yo-yo string
that’s hanging from the loop made
in the chain link diamond near the top
of the bent in fence.
The sky is magic colored for another
thirty minutes while the cars drive by
all slowly because of the crack down
on the speeds we drive away from here.
The cows in the field you could see
out in the distance between the houses,
where the teenage kids were locked inside
but banging on the walls, all ate the grass that grew
in patches among the undergrowth.
The drunkard brushing his teeth in desperation
gets all dizzy watching spit spin
in the drain while in his brain there is a static
through the speakers he had sewn into the wrinkles,
getting smoother by the hour.
The water in the shower isn’t cold or hot
but hovers in a space caught in between it,
so you could not just get comfortable
while standing in the corner of the basin.
The condescended to are eating sandwiches
they brought from home at picnic tables
waiting for their rides while still the sun
goes down on the horizon, and she moans
like it’s the first time she has felt it.
I think death is really like a garbage worker
early in the morning when it’s cold
and all the mist is spinning upward off
the moisture in the grass and there’s this
skeleton who knows what cannot last
here any longer, so he takes it back
to where it was before it somehow
showed up at the door, and let in
everything that happened by the archway.