A loose handed emblem,
of folded thoughts,
Loss is weaponized in enchanted red,
Wrongs corrected stemming from the
blissful bare signed gawky individuals.
Homage backtracked and renounced
Barely earnest calls for a curious fathom-ability
Heaven bound birdlike shadows,
Bright light gagged and janky,
Found little finger blood tacked to the earth.

Paper folded into doors
Fingers twisted into words
I try to grip reality
While collecting bumblebees
They call me whimsical
But i’m just somewhere else

And I open my eyes.  In a deep sleep I was.  Voices woke me up.  Sounds a lot like there is a t.v on in another room.  I could hear all sorts of different voices speaking.  I focus for a moment and listen.  There are so many.  I cannot make out what they are saying.  I then sit up in my bed and the voices stop! All at once.  Was I dreaming?  I lay my head back down on my pillow and hear nothing but my own heartbeat.  I then turn on my left side.  My ear folds in such a way that the voices come back!  What am I hearing!?  Where is it coming from?  The voices are quite beautiful.  I think it is a mixture of some form of acoustics that seem to travel in a time stream. Going either forward or backwords.  This chaos of voices cascades only on the folded ear.

I was a piece of paper, you wrote upon me,
I couldn't read straight away what you'd
inked upon my soul.

You started to fold me from the edges to
the inside. I was formless before,  now you
sculpted my being into a constructed form.

*"A heart sculptured by you,

Folded gently like
the hidden memory
of her smile,
Her parted lips
in silence
said more than
spoken breath.


words and foto T Carroll