blood on the keys
flashing turquoise lights that run rampant across the faceless bodies
bed shifter

We're all parched.

In a circle we sip
from the watering hole,
all sides, another animal
most of them pay me no mind

but the lion stares at me
from across the rain,

his whiskers brush
the surface —
I respect you.

He laps up his drink,
and with a flick of his tail,
bids farewell to good company.

I look down into the ripples,
formed from the mouths of
many thirsty beasts,
and I look up into my weary eyes.

I am grateful to be alive.

Kissed by rippling lips,
myself I drink deeply

Because this
may be the last time
I return to quench my thirst.

I wipe the drips from my lips,
and look down where they rippled

Lion smiles up.

a cacophony of church bells, loud expletives, and loud construction

as i sew
with bobby pins
no yarn
can be as soft as
your skin

I was trying.
I was just trying to think...
I was trying to think of something.
I was trying to think of something to write about...
, but whenever I try to think of something to write about,
I can never think of what to write.
and whenever I try to think of something,
I can never think of it.
and whenever I try to think,
I can never.

in a room,
brimming
with people,
I am alone —

sitting at an
empty table,

sometimes, I wish
someone would fill
the seat across from me,
and by sometimes, I mean
that I come here every single day
hoping with all of my heart that it will happen.

but I'm a bride and groom
in black and white. —
I'm an empty beige room with
a spider in the corner. —
I'm a glance with
a deadpan nod. —
I'm a dance where
you shift your weight
without moving your hips...

—

dribdrab fantasy,
peripheral face

we go so deep
that we forget
what's on the surface,
it's a slide, steep
and our fear is
on the playground,
while our focus  
sleeps

we bounce thoughts,
off our paddles
as we serve
linguistic ping pong *****

mischievous baboons.

we tug on playful balloons,
skipping on ribbons,
in the rubber pastel
dances of the shifty winds,
fluttering flocks of
glowing grey moons

we turn tables
like turntables,
on tilted roofs

we lay silent, slanted
kissing devil hooves