Naming future daughters pneumonia: vending machines eating seventy five cents

Wisteria jumped out of the purple bushes across North Fourth avenue,
past the trash spilled out onto sidewalks.
i tried to block the voices,visions for a few days to determine where i stood.
underneath the doctors table was a underworld maze from my memories as a
child;

architecture scalped me with curved corners,rabbit holes,silver bricks, and
fast food joints remodeled.
a longing for my father to be proud of me,
plaid piled dirty laundry,keyless gun cabinets.

steel bars; ribbed for her pleasure over orange coin shop windows
in questionable parts of town.
rain water trapped in red back left car break lights driving in front of us.
taking my mother to the ER for the fifth time in two months for heart failure.

letting strangers presumed as friends down for not reading the writing on the walls.
climbing steep hills with V6 motors,
peaking mountain ranges conquered by concrete.
the decent that takes me back to being a child.

i dropped out of high school,
got my G.E.D. at seventeen to help support my family and still failed.
i let ten years worth of hours slip by,
milk from the tilted cereal bowl.

dogwood trees bloom pink,
a rattling that reminds me of oil change stickers eleven months past due.
if you stand still even for just a minute and listen
you can hear fishing line in the wind,

the world changes and unfolds before fly fishing stream eyes.
black Ray-Ban wayfarers block sunshine Days,
my clear coat comic book poetry bookshelf piled up.
there's never enough time to catch up on reading,

fish built of verbs, vertebra, and vernacular as a disease we'll never escape.