t h i n g s t h a t f a l l a p a r t
elvis presley is my dead celebrity boyfriend
approximate elvis:
my dad used dixie peach brilliantine to shine his elvis pompadourhe still has a can,
rusted shut behind the mirrorwe can’t go on together with
someone really needs to do a punk rock version of suspicious minds
my nails are growing i stopped biting them i miss it
i don’t know) what to do about my love life
he ran back to a tumbling houseour relationship
is like
my paintingswhite on white
i know a secret place
where the clovers
are all five- and six-leafonce, when i was twelve,
i picked as many as i could
i kept them in my pocket
later
i shook plant dust
out