There is Never Enough

There was a sound like a rush of flames climbing
my femur. A pain similar to that of the weather which triggers
uncomfortable hobbling on two fake hips. The

titanium implants burned sockets, the soul.
I smell the recently cut grass of the little league’s
infield and outfield. Dandelions withered by the sun’s
radiance. A spark of transition showed a problematic collar
asphyxiating around the throat like a mushroom-cloud necktie.

I’ve got a few dollars to exchange for a beer
at the concession stand. I request my desire in front of a faceless mirror.