Fatherhood dead
smokestack collapsed on the river flats
black pollen ash pollen wind
I failed at saving
cores and rinds, 60 lb. bin
of vomit soup poured out
on the overgrowth
shame likewise cannot be
reabsorbed into the cycles
I am ranked
at every molting
by snuffers, high on wick smoke
They use my tongue my teeth keep walking
away away poor fork
poor fork away
flakes of soft wood float down,
tick dry leaves—
woodpecker knocking a dead trunk
muffled uncanny
as a scene with the sound off
as the dream of thick vines
pushing out of tear ducts
dry from disuse