you are an oil slick
tucked in the corner
of a perfect pool dug in-
to the hillside of a Costa
Rican mansion. the noise
of construction rises from below
your vacation, as your mother looks down
from the balcony, counting your beers with love
and a swirl of toucans, buzzards, and monkeys above
disrupts the monstrously blue sky.
triumph and loss commingle
and the ineffable imperfection of life
lands from on high
and keeps you
down no matter how
you try to fight, rise, deny.
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