by Dustin Luke Nelson
I know that I am saying things
I will regret. There are slices
of my eyelids I’m regretting already.
Molding shapes of greenlit smoke –
pigeon with peach wounds, feathers
facing the wrong direction
in scabs. Nothing is what it says, I lied.
Green backlit father. Green backlit confessional.
How much I know I’ve untruthed
daily. I am a lion.
I am a skipping lion with a mane of cashmere eyelashes.