steel wool woven into my tendons
pricking stringy veins
in vain i wore you
steal me some wool
for a sweater too scratchy for my pink skin
steel wool on a kitchen sink
sanding my baby forearm pink
stringy veins leaky weaky
making stained sweater splotchy
your lipmarks my hipmarks our ripmarks
thank you kindly for a lovely sweater cheri
i'll wear it till my pink ripens raw rotten cherry

In the body of a forest
Lies the feet of a tree
Sunk deeply into the soil
Is the root with a heartbeat

Deep earthly eyes
With a presence that is calm
If you let him sink into you too quickly
He will water your every form

Like the spinning of the Earth
He is the drizzle of the stars
The sweetness of the air
And the breeze with every and no care

He is the tunnel system in the city
That connects us through and through
He is the electricity
That lit the room

In a world with different stories
He is the sun that claims no glory
He is the seed that plants the tree
Yet has the roots that found their way to me

I wanted a globe tattoo
to prove to the world I had ambition
to ditch the small town I was raised in
and make myself something huge

I wanted a globe tattoo
to portray adventure and fun
to leave on foot and not stop running
and make myself something new

I wanted a globe tattoo
to tell the world I was speical and kind
that wanderlust floods my mind
and not the constant fear of being stuck in the town where I met you

I wanted a globe tattoo
just to convince myself I would ever be able to make it out of this town

Red herrings tend to be trustworthy,
But lead us astray.
Orange orangutans are trustworthy:
If it looks menacing, it is;
If it grunts, it's meaningful;
If it moves, it's unpredictable.
In captivity they're studied
As evolutionary wonders,
But it's still an orange orangutan,
Pounding his chest.