The euthanized fireworks no long point skywards and, now, I curate their demise, knowing into which

There is a tap on the window, not the kind that knocks but one that drips, fending off your muttoned

I remembered all the bottles that filled his lungs and
the final one which emptied them
the then

now those eidolic dread horses have scarred your slumber, passed 9, passed 10, and even your