i’m
one frothy
flippopotamus
rooting in
self-soothing slop,
basking in
back bacon sizzling,
snorting bubbles
hiss and
pop.
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confined to
old home staircase
missing railings
no apparent landing,
down then
up to
lost..
still
shuffling..
stifling..
teetering on the edge
of dream,
eyes fixated on
our feet–
rooted right where
we should be.
a tired punch through
frozen glass
to evade the
clasp of
time,
deep cleansing cuts
on hands,
in gushing life from
busted dam.
point not as
i fail,
no such beast treks
these woods
since autumn laid
its smell,
hear not as
i tell
like i’ve never
lived the
tale,
trapper without
map
back to safety net’s
missing mesh,
beast now roams
off grid,
unplug to watch
eyes dim
like stars
through drowsy slits.
you dismiss songs
i suggest
for fear of committing to
the sentiment
beneath my every
shy attempt
to
connect
ash breath slips though
stained glass
teeth,
i watch it rise
just beyond reach
and dare not speak
just to be
heard
while i’ve no use for
sounds like
words.
whispers frosting
windows,
mom’s piano voice
like prayers,
a shrine to dreamscapes
dimming
winter’s wilted
face,
a humble flicker
glows the
eyes.
sour in the
eyes,
lighting up then
turning
from,
a spoonful and
slumber
teases
into this half
breath
state
where lies
never promise
and i seldom
flinch.
Fragments
slept in training-
out the
back,
i hear too loudly
what’s not
said,
squealing to a
complete
stop
before the road
falls off,
chased lost cloud
back to my
corner,
nothing waits
like you.
do eyes parade
by you?
exposed
in shy costume,
making vintage
new.
hands in the garden 
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