I’m drinking wine.
Without bothering to use a wineglass.
I’m doing this because my youth
ripped my heart out this morning
on the steps of a basilica
I disregarded my instincts
to be wary of good things
I let blessing cover me
without waiting for the other shoe
And everything I always said
it carries you
to the top of church steeples
and makes you believe in flight
only to push you off
The newly-born idealist is dead
in the cradle now.
As she should be.
Because everybody who calls you beautiful
will untangle their fingers from yours
and ask you softly
to get out
of their cars.
it’s time for another drink
shed for the ugliness