I wonder how I came to be
paddling around this
atomic rage
I wonder how I could never
see the floor of truth before
In this backroom that smells
like you
I have got to scream and cry
or I will end up searching for you
all of my life
And I could hate myself for
grieving over you
I could bury the make-believe in
a shoe box beside the house
next to the butterflies whose
spasms of beauty are manna
to breathe
Instead I am sinking straight through
right down to the briny deep
You were the oxygen tank crammed
full of butterfly breaths
I so very much wanted to keep
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