I am over the decayed foot

thrust into poetic mouth;

Daddy stains bruised around

 

the teeth, clamped onto something,

sweeter than whiskey,

than daughter, more memorable 

than gasoline curdled over milk 

 

even the cat won't touch. You 

 

left harsher than none;

 

before we could even begin.

I wanted so badly to circle 

my mouth against your O moon.

To share Dylan's sweeter than 

daughter whiskey, over tulips

in a baby's swing. 

 

While we discussed

the way ashes never leave

the nasal passages no matter how

hard you swallow back the words 

you never wrote me back 

before you died,

before I could begin them.

 

Before Daddy brought you to life,

I mistook you for myself,

at least several times before 

I knew what that meant,

to say, "myself"

 

and I regret that I knew 

you to be not yourself. 

 

That language evolved

to hide me within 

so many poems

that I was as lost 

as the poem I never wrote 

you back into.