i may have left
a hole
where no hole
should
be,
i know not where
it goes,
for it’s too dark
within to
see..
and yet entices
me.
rhyme
from saggy swing
in curbside
park,
i watch kids choke a tree
to see crows
scatter..
gather, then return
to feast,
from the giving hand
of an unfed
man.
can’t carry you
with me,
and can’t help
but look
back
to see if you’re
wind
or strewn gravel on
train tracks.
burst pipe in the
basement
floods a living room
grown stagnant,
photos float apart
as if to
flee..
a cigar box gorged with
dust and tears
long buried
in me.
it’s no wonder
i avoid,
so consumed by
city noises,
the hollow crunch
of beer
cans,
dank streets lined
with heat
lamps
leaving me fake
tanned,
while what i seek’s
a whispered
breeze
to ferry me
to sleep.
haunted by
a habit,
in the middle of
a sentence
to describe the sound
of distress
in a voice that
tames the
tides.
rusted spoon upon
the counter,
mother moon,
don’t judge me now,
for the spoiled taste
in my mouth..
from caffeine in
sweetened
cream,
behind dissolving
smoke screen.
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.
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.
hands in the garden 
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