there is a place called violet beginnings
beneath the shoulders blades
i breathed upon -- weavings of honey, lavender,
and soil -- gripping my expectations of life like reins;
watery half globes form from my thought of absence
and the feeling of my legs sprinting
through dandelion sweeps
and wind caresses. there is a way
to abandon these memories, to strip yourself
of any lost feeling, a coined exchange
for the desire to find something easier to stomach.
there is a way to render yourself motionless; i
am looking for the ignition.

teetering on the edge
of empathy and indifference
i attempt to cradle
my concept of humankind, giving it
sips of water and bites of fruit -- i
want to believe
we are all
more capable than we seem;
our output needs to surpass our ambition
to "do good", for practice
will surely steer
a gilded
and inevitable (im)perfection.

breathing in the cooled and speckled air, evaporating into the trees above my head - maybe my reality is really my heaven; maybe i'm thousands of light years from myself; maybe i'm here all at once.