goodbye yellow 

each night another neighbor
puts a couch out on the curb
with a little sign that says, "free."
we salvage them & turn them
into horses. the horses have nowhere
to stand in our little attic lives
& so we give them driver's licenses 
& tell them to go & gather
as many ears of corn as they can. 
the yard fills with husks. 
it's harvest time or else it is 
time to celebrate the great death
of all the bees. goodbye yellow.
goodbye gold. goodbye red.
insect wings fall like snow. the horses 
miss being places where people
took their spines & laid them down
like shovels. they kick in 
the neighbors' windows
and they find the horses 
lying in living rooms with the television
set to a static channel. snow on top
of snow. what do you do when 
what you were is so thoroughly gone
that no one can recognize you 
anymore? i ring doorbells.
i gather the horses. ride them
to the forest & i tell them,
"if you want, you can be deer."
they take me up on the offer.
learn a new kind of running.
still, sometimes, one or two are successful.
i'll discover a couch in the woods.
animals perching on the cushions 
& worms in the foam. home is 
breath. the exhale. the perfect place
to decompose. whenever i find one,
i sit with the creatures. i feel
the couch still running away
from all the glass & the rain.