not quite a creature
in flight
but high enough, though
skin don’t
itch..
my work shirt’s
tight,
a spritz of deep sea
in these
veins
to dilute this
miscast
hate,
cloud dancer..
bring the
rain.
creativity
you ordered me to
suck it in
and tuck the rest
away,
asking me to hide
again,
as to not be in
the way,
but i’m less meek
than before,
i’ll just shut this door,
then jam the
lock..
and eat the
key,
i’m starved for
more,
and sick from
talk,
please leave
me be.
i shook the bar flies
from my hair,
and scorched
holes
through tales i hadn’t
shared
in swarm gone wild that
would not
dare
subdue their
buzz..
..because.
like hail on a
holiday
chase me beneath
covers
where no one knows
i melt like
snow
on tongues of
the stale,
glass eyed
and upward staring,
from the depths
of bed,
in a room with
no ceiling.
let’s meet out
front,
we’ll watch the
bus stop..
just to see who
gets off,
then we’ll take bets on where
they’re headed next,
based on which way
they walk.
it was music for
reflection
on a stroll back
home
that lead me to
the trees,
i swear they arched
a little closer
to make sure i was
breathing,
at once, i felt both
held and seen
standing lone and barefoot
in the street.
an aged wood bench
painted
white,
right beside
a no trespassing sign,
can still spot graffiti
lines,
though can’t quite make out
what they read,
behold youth bursting
to be free.
i am all over the place
these days
like spilled
paint,
imprinting my mess
in peculiar
shapes.
hands in the garden 
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