wedding train

i have accepted that i already have brain rot.
we go to the park to harvest acorns alongside
the squirrels who are working on getting
as fat as they can for the snow globe. 
some of the acorns have little white worms inside. 
i let them loose on the compost 
so they can have a disco. i have become addicted 
to wedding content. drama is best 
when someone is dressed all in white. 
i bought a wedding dress at a thrift store once. 
it smelled like an attic but i loved it. 
i took wedding pictures in the forest. knit a train
out of cities i had left. the stoplights dragging
on my heels. everywhere is beautiful at 9pm at night
no matter the time of year. a fallen light. animals singing,
"good bye good bye good bye." i don't know
where the dress ended up. i think i remember it
standing up one sunset & running towards
the turkey hill gas station at the bottom
of the mountain. i think she wanted to get
a really wild stain. blue raspberry. i scroll & 
the videos turn into jump rope. i don't want
to lose myself but i am not sure what is left anyway.
a bride on a video complains about her
wooden bouquet of flowers. i did not know
until this moment that wooden bouquets existed.
the tree inside a rose inside fist inside 
tongues that butter the porch light. i saw
an article that said the color of the year is 
a pale yellow. i think of the bellies of the acorns' worms.
my skull full of them. i am sure of this. 
who do i go to for help? the mirror is bursting
with alarms. a fire starts elsewhere & drowns the sky red. 
the worms scroll of their phones too & so do
their worms. a chain of rot deep into the guts
of our autumn. one bridge on a video advises 
her followers, "never do what i did."
i have already forgotten what she did. 
my wedding dress tries to forget that she
was mine. goes to a diner & orders bottomless coffee
until the whole world is dressed in white
& the sky wriggles. we jar the acorn meat.