To Maggie

Let’s take some time
to revel in our dysfunction
Why not? It’s three in the morning,
The peacocks and mythical rabbits
have absolutely wandered across our doorstep
and made themselves at home,
Despite our misery and baseness
violas and alyssum have sprung up in the refuse,
byproducts of your pain machine

I love you, poor creature,
We have no one else cheering us on
Those that might have are dead or gave up
Our gifted friends are building boring gypsum
mountains of personal achievement
You have a gold vein in your crappy heap of dirt
Get it all -
You can even start writing in the middle of the goddamn notebook
You’re lucky that way