I want Pretty Things to name all that I cannot.
Pretty Things Beer and Ale Project
call their brown lager Lovely Saint Winefride,
a pale ale— Confounded Mr. Sisyphus.
Let’s begin with goodbyes. Name the end
of ruckus, the night after the last night
10,000 Purple Martins swarm the pear trees.
Or in Paris, last devour of lamplight, the need
to differentiate until we meet again at la boulangerie
and until we meet again before God.
I once parted with a man whose tongue
was candied with me, his hand
holding a suitcase. What’s that goodbye:
full barrel on your chest? And so long
to what you thought you might die by— the sea
or the sound only torn cornhusk skin can make.
What’s farewell to pretty things, Pretty Things?
Silk clothing put away, never roused again.
Name the marrow in the narrow moment
when sugar changes taste.