Addict

Mahogany maple syrup

runs in spider web lines.

My father never uses the stuff, he

eats pancakes, powdered, butter moist.

When I was a child, he knew more of straightness.

Lines and razors were friends.

One night he tried to die by his hand. A girl

jumped before he walked to the ledge.

Her mangled body wore the rails like a girdle,

her limbs so thin they became a blood putty. Angel,

her name. They had to lift the train to take her out.