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skonen_bladesThey see me, cowering right there in front of them. I’m wearing camouflage that doesn’t work. Like I’m an ostrich trying to be human by dressing in a clown suit.
I bury the hair of the dead in rich soil to try to grow them back. It doesn’t work but I keep trying. Someone has to do something.
I tear a wet, red strip off of tomorrow and watch it glisten in the moonlight. The blood looks black.
Every shower is a baptism. Every bedtime is a death. Enthusiasm doesn’t look good on me.
We are foster cats. That decision she made without consulting me turned my brain into a monster truck challenge with live people in the crushed cars. It turned her womb into a mortar and pestle. We haven’t spoken since. We hang around orphanages and the SPCA with money in our pockets and not enough courage to cross the street and open the door.
Someone tie a sunset around my neck and push me into night. Make this a hanging day.
Keep the gaze and change the tactics. Mix levity with gravity to stay level.
I can round this side of a moment like a wet hand on spinning clay. I can chop this side of a moment off and leave it shocked and trembling. Allow me to navigate around the seconds.
These are the early days of burning.
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I bury the hair of the dead in rich soil to try to grow them back. It doesn’t work but I keep trying. Someone has to do something.
I tear a wet, red strip off of tomorrow and watch it glisten in the moonlight. The blood looks black.
Every shower is a baptism. Every bedtime is a death. Enthusiasm doesn’t look good on me.
We are foster cats. That decision she made without consulting me turned my brain into a monster truck challenge with live people in the crushed cars. It turned her womb into a mortar and pestle. We haven’t spoken since. We hang around orphanages and the SPCA with money in our pockets and not enough courage to cross the street and open the door.
Someone tie a sunset around my neck and push me into night. Make this a hanging day.
Keep the gaze and change the tactics. Mix levity with gravity to stay level.
I can round this side of a moment like a wet hand on spinning clay. I can chop this side of a moment off and leave it shocked and trembling. Allow me to navigate around the seconds.
These are the early days of burning.
tags