Tragedy, infantile. The calendar, called Infinite, rains, rains. The trade wind brings me tall tales of your heart gone Wild in the Indies, the plains, the plains. Travel towards, forever reaching, screaming. Travel North, South, East, NORTH. Slide whispers under the doorstep. Each morning, gore me with forceps. Texas Four-step. Minus Two. Minus You. You never reach for me, longing, breathing. Keep small dedications under my pillow. Writs of love past, our love: Passed. My mind drifts, wafts, splits, continues to lift. Rain, rain, rain. In February, you drained me, drained, drained. In March, you split my chest cavity, gravity. Sizzle, my heart cracks on the Teflon. Over easy, easy, hard. Pop.