I just can't be anything can I
A particle and a wave
Everything and nothing
That's a fact
Lingering in the cusp of a twilit doorway
I am nothing as I sit on the verge of everything
Can I be if I am not here nor there
Or anywhere but here
Straddling the identity of not one another, but two
For everything I find that is Whole
I begin to see only fractures of myself
Fracturing Into pieces that’s what I am
Pieces of different puzzles
Smashed together into something new
Never quite fitting together quite right

Lemon-flavored poppy-seeded pearls crunch
Between the iridescent glint of my smile
As river beds are littered with glittering
Scales of a tumbling rich white sneeth.
Snollywaggs petter through the trempint forest
Hanging off of each piece of foliage
Are glossy globs of translucent orange marmalade
Going mitter mitter by the Trillow tree
Is the hollow ringing of an intrinsic song

Produced by the withering of an Old God
Laughter trickles into the billowing air as humble giants
Hunt for peace about the cherry orchard grove as
Woven mittens craft themselves onto wriggling fingers, poking in and out
Of unintentional holes found among its wearer’s
***** memories that seep out of the cracks
Flowing with a sticky flag stripped with dreams
Lingering in the shadows and meshing through

The confetti-covered walls. Hushing the clorgals
Raining down through the forest’s tangles
Is a weary process’s manifestation into a string of lights.
Black holes **** in another wonder
Towards the Nymph’s saddened stories
Whispered as a second century passes
Across the timpited marks along their skin
And into their mind that flies
Only to start the journey home again for the first time.

Adding blocks to the walls all around me
Standing in a growing tower
Continuing to fear as the drop grows more severe

You made a ladder to help me down
Each step was thought uncertain
Until you gave me your hand too

An ocean of tears turns into a river
Still turbulent but with direction
An emotional title wave takes me over

It doesn’t stay neat—
nothing does.
Not the room.
Not the mind.
Not the feelings
I have for you.

I spill everything out—
ink, blood, tears—
whatever I hold
too tight.

Even the rain
trips over itself,
but you call it
beautiful—
you always do.