I have an intestinal tract the length of a football field
capable of digesting 10 year old gum, burnt out light bulbs, and the tines of forks
but soft unspoken declarations and insults bring out Ornate moths to pad the inside of my stomach
palming at acids they drink up bad feelings and spit up soothing sticky ether
Can we go back to when
we drank wine cured in a cat's eyes
Kayla read us Ethiopian poems
while she scratched back my hair
Dani and I curled beneath the heater
they waited for the thrashing of the train
and then I was alone
originally published on cowbird.com
It's a sickly orchid, pulled from the streets of Moyobamba
Column of its flower filled with tear drops from the river Mayo
Now it sings with the remnants of names
LyndsieLyndsieJosephJoseph
The harvest moon
To put this quite simply, I don't really think she understands everything that she is to me.
I am a fist,
which clenches shut and releases wide
A soft clamshell
gently opening and closing
to absorb emotional nourishment
I was strolling along one sunny morn,
Didn’t quite realize when she left me;
I kept walking on,
Not knowing she wasn’t following me.
Skies so blue,
I mean black; ominous
Yet, I smile at the sight of you
Though you're nowhere close
Only your essence lingers.
How do you miss a soulless soul?
Holding on to what was promised,
Guaranteed. Written. Printed.
Opposite results.
Up all night, sleep all day.
Insomniac. Low energy.
Hyped. High.
My mind running faster than your lies.
Guess this is what they would call
Vignette.
Hands
