little
contemptible
undead child-people
said the misanthrope to herself
like me
little
contemptible
undead child-people
said the misanthrope to herself
like me
fall asleep
with two papercut
hands in bags
of rock salt only
to dream the ancient
elf city of el
dorado smoldered
golden-red like the tip
of the pilot light
under your only oven
.
live awake
with two eyes inside
holes in my facebone
only to see
the present tense
moldering around
me like snow like
so many gel caps
tossed in the volcano
fingers through my hair
skin chills ripple up my spine
getting a haircut
okay
anxiety
means i worry and i
chew my cheeks and overthink but
it means
i choke
at the moment of truth i choke
and i will always choke
count on me i’ll
walk off
haunted
houses have ghosts
who try to scare you out
or christian demons who kill you –
just kill
you dead –
but my parents’ old, wooden house
stopped short term memories
from forming be-
tween rooms
loneli-
is waiting eve-
though seasons rive like scal-
acriss-cross our touch memori-
for cont-
Bird song
Dandelion
Flowers and a pert wind
Told me it was eostre morning –
Nothing
Else told
Me – and moved me to visit the
Woods to understand how
I knew it, how
That works
summers
pass, difficult
to hear, since sound waves slow
through sweet actuals, through
the tangible trees. summers come
slowly,
come soon:
hear those there-flowers opening
on extended days; smell
the qualia
grass grow
my hourglass holds
one grain of sand for telling
the present moment
the death of a loved one
the birth of my child
the horror of war
the ecstasy of faith
these are four waystones
i may never reach
yet my inexperience
with each has been
used to crush me
(like granite monoliths)
into the shame of naïvete
these are four waystones
i no longer care to pass by