so why don’t
i read..
likely it’s paper
allergy-
perhaps the sockets
of my soul
are glutted with
weeds,
a mind shaped seed
between my
teeth,
the perfect
book
was
make belief.
too bashful to
touch
you like pillow
talk
me down
from
any lie that wants
me caught.
daylight’s final
gasp
grazing nape of
neck,
songbirds scatter all
directions
like..
phantom children
called in
from
rusty schoolyard
swings
sway long into
night at
play.
a dream like playlist
liquifies
between poles of
desert mind
shooed back to grade
school photo
day-
always that one hair
out of place.
how lacking sleep
left linens
musty
foldless moldy
sheets
may not have chafed
my cheek
had they been
aired to
dry
and not bleached
in heat.
stiff back turned
to day,
nursing thrift store
injuries
midst molar
decay
rooted in held breath
histories
share little left
to say,
chased back into
the wild
where grizzly bears
bleed grey.
blind to shimmer
of tears
binding terror to fingers
upon sheath
of shiv too quick
to thrust.
a verse about
little,
sliver of time’s
string,
the best of all
i had
plucked from
the past
wilting like a
whisper
at peace on the
tip of my
finger
or wasted to
wind
like wasps on
skin.
been no dusk more
humble
secret slipped in
summer
tire swing over
puddle
spun out popping
bubbles.
fading people
shapes
at golden time
of day
mistaken for
reprieve,
on knees in weeds
with teeth..
stripped by hiss
beneath.
hands in the garden 
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