I coughed up a pile of commas this morning.

So, instead of feeling bad and storing them
in a box,

I sent them, mourning, I sent them to my cousin
in a plastered basket cage.

Cuz I'm so afraid,
I'll assuage and fear them when I seem them.

Until then, I'll page my border.
And stage my life, in order,
to cook things, even still...
I'll spill over moving truths,
piled,
in little puddle,
but muddled with all the kooks.