Letters

Have you ever rested your soul

on the back of a caterpillar,

its body taking you to the next leaf?

Spoken with a tongue pickled by heat

from a door open to a moment

spent drying with a blue towel in hell,

or sunbathing in the perspiration of a cloud?

Outrage, extinguished when written

on paper airplanes sent with fury

across the room, the noses blunted by the tile

on which they landed.

Read ugly. Read hate. Read any damn thing.

The uglier the gargoyle, the more effective

it is warding off evil spirits—read this.

The wicked woman hated dogs, keeping them

chained and unfed until they withered

at her hands—see this.

The boy changed pants in need of pockets

allowing him to carry quarters

to buy taffy or any damn thing—imagine this

Allow for cinder.

Sting when struck by paper pellets.

A butterfly is lighter than all this.

Forget the ugly. Forget the hate.

Forget the any damn thing.