trash dusk

the beautiful tells me to go down
to where the flies are. put each of my fingers
in little gum wrappers & wait for the swarm
to have a love poem about it.
i used to sleep between two dumpsters.
one was full of mannequin heads & the other
was full of all the delicious that the grocery store
couldn't manage to sell. beetles & gnats 
& juice bugs would come & call it
a land of plenty. that is where we live
even if it doesn't always seem like it.
the land says, "i put on earrings for the elegy."
i collect eyes from a grove. new eyes to replace
my old ones which are starting to become
obsolete. you cannot see all the bullshit
with the old version. some people i've heard
opt to let their old eyes turn into lemons.
i do not mean to always be the bearer of bad news.
i want to just go to a sunset & not know
it's really decomposing. that it's really
a decommissioned god. so many people
have worshipped the sun. the sun feels guilty
about everything it cannot do. the smell
of garbage is the smell of running away.
the car window rolled down. a hand
reaching into the night as if to grab 
a holy place. if you carry a plastic shopping bag
odds are that you'll find a chance 
to fill it. do not believe what you are told
about the taste of roses. they are bitter
& they will make you sick as the last
threads of light. do you still tell yourself
"tomorrow will be better?" i do not.
instead, i unwrap just one finger. play a game
where i pray it is a thumb. when i get
a thumb i let myself pretend to be whole.
go into the dumpster & find all the little stars
that used to talk in languages only they knew.
they smell like worms & rotting strawberries.
i fall asleep like only leaves do.