up the down side

 
 
 
she walked as if  
she were the ghost  
of moonlight  
moving across  
windless water  
 
her fruit was a  
serpent's  
bella morte  
 
I am left standing  
knee deep in the  
ash and bone  
meal of all the  
"suppose to be's"  
 
the crows sitting  
on the power line  
outside my window  
tell each other  
dirty jokes  
 
the kitchen sink  
drips with the  
precision of a  
surgeon's blade  
 
squares want to  
become circles,  
circles want to  
become triangles  
and triangles want  
to be left alone  
 
does this make  
any sense?  
 
...no?  
 
neither does  
love