Just a Mediocre Sunset

Books pages

Float from the windows

Like unmade origami swans

Shot out of the sky

I gather them

My stories dead limbs

Like firewood

To burn down my heart

They are mine

Always will be

Now stacked

By an armchair

Organized piles

Casting crosshair shadows

Over me and a cup of tea

I think they mean to kill me

As a sniper

From a darkened tower

On the curb

I feel better

The stack of pages

Stands a heap

In my lighted window

I’m not welcome

In my own home

The pages

Changed the locks

Autumn leaves are rolling

By my feet

Like boozy butterflies

Drunk off the stem

The weather

Finds its way

Underneath my collar

I can’t go back

Because the pages want my insides

Guts and tendons

To run their violin bow

Across my heartstrings

And they laugh

As the strings shreak

While my heart sets

Behind snow peaked bones

But it’s not

A beautiful twilight

After the pages are full

I’m just a mediocre sunset