“Bleached Aviary”

mother shaking flower a tiny

green world scatter gravel

gone now I follow rivers

black L shaped dark V

yellow lost run boy; wave

wood lightning away white

reflection plank the blinds

outside in years blow canopy

porcelain stomach berries love

war; rectangles creamy squares

dying mint eel a

ruckus should pears pressed

against the night we met

tree speckled leaning awfully

close moss mouth shooting up

onion skins thinning wire

photo tucked ley lines bite

stained stick monster a moat

the body between; the laugh

hinge memories scraps dripped

family dry perched thick not

around here locket curves

bench crying knot scratch

cross missing umbrella still

stand ending falling back

pit branch the fig never

sitting rain; still mulch nerves

looking down ivy face quiet

cloak the camera storm it

coming across bird skin

vessel flesh hops waiting

and then fly.

 

“Food for Thought”

I am alive.

I am silence.

I’m still alive.

Only silence.

Life lines.

Meaning of life.

Does speaking make you alive?

Only just,

only just,

only just.

Just look at how made of lines I am.

I am alive.

I am alive.

But I don’t feel it.

Sometimes

I am silence.

Life lines.

A funny word.

A concept.

Does that make me alive?

Only just.

Only just.

 

“Me Merciful”

Fighting by your hands,

lingering in the stairwell.

My fists tucked between my thighs.

You breathing my breath,

stealing much more than my sunrise.

How did this happen?

Who is to blame?

Was it the night sky,

who brought us together?

Or was it the rain?

Caking my skin with marble,

encasing by your touch.

โˆผ

You were gone

before I had a chance to dry.