The Sticks

The need to dust the words.          To explain and draw.
A book titled How Do Birds Know How to Build a Nest?
A dental appointment.    You forgot it.    Maybe your teeth

were supposed to remember.     The film you want.
Is Full Superia 400.   You think maybe these train cars are disjointed
thoughts like a missed dental appointment in meth and its aftermath.

I guess.    That makes this poem by default.    The bank is coming, mad.

Infinite regress regret like a highway.       A really deserted
piece of ass backseat leopard stretch of highway.      It glows green at night.
Over the giant fiberglass ice cream cone that lights up.    After everyone leaves.

And where a U.F.O.       Only ever.     Came again once.    Looking for you.