blue breath in playground
older dogs off leash,
ice rinks in backyards
kid neighbor’s father screams,
night stars frosted to my glasses
woodsmoke whispers
winter’s name
like crystal.
coloursofthesoul
teased and tickled in
snowfall blinds..
drawn to chin
to guard embers within
from
shadow storm
gorged on trees whole
snow angels play shy
in plain sight.
branch like a maze
of veins-
umbrella’s me
on storm-lit street,
never lived
for fear of who I’d meet,
a cracked glass candle
dripping dust,
your sleight of hand’s
got me drunk
on letter better left
muzzled in
drawer-
your bite marks
no more.
thought a word and watched it dissolve
until freed from memory,
held too long for change to
find me, stiff and chilled on back porch gazing,
taken with strange forms and shapes
consumed by snarl of
shadow snakes
in garden left
to molder..
midst our absence felt
within these
walls.
swoll pupils
bob
like tealights on
pound of
clouds,
grey lightning
lips
submerged
in all words turn flood
heart sculpted of wax
and blood
pools like sand in
veins dried
shut.
intimately,
bodies harmonize
with summer mist
spattered on fogged glass
in crystal streaks
pearl beads
weep
from swollen folds
upon sheets dirtied rose
glows each
breath,
stretched cotton thread
swabs skin
raw
of sin made
song-
in reckless waves,
here and
gone.
out flat, head unscrewed,
refusing
to cinch gaps
between time’s
straps,
should i swell
whole
enough to feel
held-
blameless and
unlearned,
would shelf sag
where books are meatiest?
-undigestible,
inkwell churns,
page by
dead skin page-
i skim along but words
are not the
test
must be burned.
rusty owl
bleeds into lowest branch
of sky..
ends where eyes
melt slow,
then swell to life with breath
rekindling flame
and flesh..
ash dissolves like
desert snow
into good morning’s
stubborn glow.
just a little thank you
or no
leaning over
looking onward ghostly
tempt me into
fading more to ignore
groans from gut
of fridge
box fibers cave at
acrid sight
of tomb like room
this sickly
bright.
peeling tape from corners,
oh so muggy mists rose morning
over lens of glasses, crooked
postures painting
hides the
rot
and butter sweat’s spread thick with
blade dragged glistening
from dirt water
daily dangers swamped in sink
badly needs draining
but why bother.
hands in the garden 
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