Verisimilitude

 
The animals haven't stopped shitting
under the tree in the backyard. I've given up

buying jugs of vinegar and ammonia, peppermint 
oil; reading about parasites in the soil. We push

the world to the end of the line because we want
to begin again. And that's how we wind up 

with so many elegies. But let me say that again.
I'm no different. I come back to the same

passages believing this time, I can rehearse
a different ending, clean up the mess. Do you see 

this little pile and how I keep depositing more 
salt on my pillows, between the pages of books,

in drawers with cashed checks and old letters?
Here we are, being nothing but true to our nature.