Category 365 Collection

A place

to hold a thought

a raid on our tongue tips,
dipping in the honey taste of...

She said: take your curse, digest your sorrow, own your misery

I love them, their blue stickish torsos and jaunty meanderings

You will raise the spray to the sky, beloved, beautiful.

I run from the wound causing

mayhem along the causeway of my mind

a hole in the mattress

deep as I’d dug it

These wounds will bubble over
and grow, running in the streets
consuming. Everything.

When body is considered landscape
and maps are considered time, we can feel what can’t be found

That year we learned.
D’Nealian forms; the tinny reek
of Salisbury steak, the scorched
tomato-sugar sauce on square-cut crust;