burning wings inflamed by whits of growth’s friction
or sparked in fated fall
flutter from scapula to dirt
as habit makes her scratchy nest in my clavicle
(a friend who keeps my back bent)
and i am reminded the mechanics of how
i’ll never take flight Continue reading “untitled”
Rage woke me, her busy brain sad and
shaken by the imperfect shapes of the day
and we wept at what she saw lost between the exchange of promise and possibility.
She wouldn’t rest and asked for stories
so I mucked up memories until she purred
and our morning sorrows slowed.
I am so easily seen by her Continue reading “Rage woke me”
Dissatisfaction can be so heavy and hard to put down
and the rusted edges of happiness can make it hard to hold
sleep is anxious and angsty, and in my dreams I’m rushing toward rest,
toward familiar shapes with ugly faces, Continue reading “Alien gardens”
I’ve been this self for maybe four years and before her, I was plaster and seaweed, stiff and slimy.
Hadn’t been cracked or cleaned yet and consequently moved through life as a sleek lump could.
She wasn’t weaker but she wasn’t wise.
She her me was lonely along the lines of a straight flat road continuing through a night with no morning, she never believed in the sun and so it never rose, and all that disbelief bottled in the bottom of her brain for double decades and festered.
I used to be so lonely, now I never have been or so it feels most days. Continue reading “I used to be so lonely, now I never have been.”
Language and laughter are root-bound,
outmoded code, archaic in their dips and arches
there’s no point pontificating, wryness runneth dry when simplicity is an act:
slip one quip under the ruffles of a skirt
to flirt the living dead into roiling rejection Continue reading “Wild Roots”