short person in a funny hat & bad clothes

from a distance,
each  dawn
you trick my failing eyes:

same squat surprise

a short dude
in bad clothes and a funny hat

rusty red attire
and a doodle smile

on a faceless trunk
the wind calls:

Elaine dies, is dying, is dead,
my chronological twin forgive
me for still being alive

but never, not for one
heartbeat thriving.

elain again

meeting you again wayward
twin, left me stranded

under circling birds,
memory predators.

respectabilia

for Once, I want
a statement worthy of respect not

a mantra and certainly
not a signed complaint
or petition on behalf

of the disinfected.

my beautiful shoes
can wing me only so far

until distance becomes
impossible and jealousy

sharpens its polished tusks.

Every word almost
is so achingly beautiful,
perfect in its own peculiar box

yet always overthrown
by better, brighter, sharper,
newer

paradigms. cunning ballerinas
who count syllables, punctuate
dry spells and green the silver
of my parallel ex-world.