irascible phantasmagoria

beggars guarding the gates of heaven,
give holy water to their faux flowers.
a path splits sevenfold,
the middlemost of its children razed and barren,
but is the only correct path.

unmarked graves laden not with pink petals, but neatly wrapped candies.
a coin split into two halves found inside a jacket pocket, with no knowledge of how it came to be there.

looking for your name in the corner of every daily herald,
and paying for meaningless tattoos on a whim, instead of getting the tar stains removed from my teeth,
because you always said you liked the taste of cigarettes on me.

summer, and the time capsule i could never find,
are buried somewhere, maybe close in proximity,
but i feel i'd sooner drag the canal that hides the bike i drove into it,
than dig another hundred holes in vain.