I take you
back a
thousand
times a day

and let you
go because
it is my way

all your red
is just an
artifact of blue

what I really love is death

you weren’t
real because
you weren’t him

small gods are not the ones to love

and so I cast
my lyre into the
sea and tuck
my head beneath
my wing–a bird
standing on one leg
I wait beneath a paper tree
for death to comfort me