drool bubble bursts
brain drained
by thirst,
more trouble
talk,
a loaded
queue,
no break in
sight
my bottle
sweats,
split-shift
tonight,
i crawl with
time.
poetry
a dusty first
aid kit,
on a shelf,
in the corner of
an empty
kitchen
waiting for next
hint of
blood
to open
up.
called my tale
a lie
as shadows
of characters gushed
of flourishing
years
in star stuffed
yards
weeded once upon
a time,
but now lawn
yellows
like smiles that know they’re
all for show.
another curbside
pickup-
old frames missing
glass,
photographs as if they
could be crawled
into to
die..
glaring from the
other side–
at an exiled
sofa
that did not withstand the
burn marks of
our kind.
looking up
paint drips from the brush
onto my lips, the cool tones soothe
amending mood, i swallow dust
and pry my eyes still
caked with rust..
of sleep yet on my tongue
lips now numb from
colour lust,
looking up, who do i trust?
the one with his hand on the brush?
under mustard sky
we cover
lungs
to guard the heart from
harsh fire
winds
while fear blows warm
on desert grass
praying that the
rage won’t
last,
sparing souls
restless and trapped.
*praying for the safety and of all impacted by the wildfires currently flanking my home city.
conjuring pink magic
with friends in an abandoned attic
contact the past to forgive
what can’t be changed
to suit the
present,
fingers perched on board in tandem
shouldn’t play but we’re
bewitched
by the promise, by the quest,
four moved to seek
by unrest.
tonight’s moonlight drips
like eye drops
from sky
gods
glazing thick and
milky
rolling highlight reels
of memories
that no longer
comfort
me
though i watch with humility
to what runs
like..
someone else’s
story
“go tame” they order
with finger on
the taser
gritting teeth like nothing
will satisfy
like a flesh wound bite
to their threat
to peace
and freedom space
of a beast with
a taste for
the wild.
the colours of my fantasy
bleed through the movie screens
then run blue and bruised down my cheeks
like the storm that wouldn’t ease
to let me catch my breath
i’m sick from chasing sleep
through maze’s hall of ghosts
i say hello then turn my back
to walls, then i turn back
in time to watch the colours splash
fantasy, relief from what reality says
helps me see something
other than
what
is.
hands in the garden 
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