some nights the walls of my house seem

five times higher and the light seems

pregnant with silverfish desolation and

it takes a whip/snap/halogen/blast from

your secret love store to shatter the frown

i wear like a dinner jacket and send a million

million stained glass butterflies like confetti

spitting and shining to the very corners

of the slow burning strobe light fantasy that

is my inhale/exhale existence.