And you my cone
of hot nickels
my pietà
with a steaming locomotive

                problem child

The pyrotechnics
that bring you back
in the sad form
in the formless sandbox

                without shores

where you’re drowning
to hold up your feet
you’re dying to show us
something really wet

                and shining

with your sideburns lit up
to show us the meaning
what a flivver
what a brief cameo

                ad for pain.