i.
i carve the sadness out of my ribs like well-soaked marrows;
they fall off like a drunken secret —
a poem within a poem within a night-long quietude
that i disturb
like a child's stomping feet among the prairie dusk.
ii.
i carve a poem,
whole and out of my tightened throat
like a reverse magic trick,
but my hands break in casual irony.
i carve a word out of my tongue
but all it does is bleed.
iii.
i carve a feeling out of a callus but
my paper-skin is left too long under a lavender storm
to still write letters like these.
iv.
the sky cries to a drunken oblivion
as i unwrite this poem in indifference.
i let myself go, like that
dead houseplant drooping in corner of my room
and cheerless, quiescent sheets
watch to pass time.
Dec 23, 2021
Dec 23, 2021 at 9:06 PM UTC
i.
i carve the sadness out of my ribs like well-soaked marrows;
they fall off like a drunken secret —
a poem within a poem within a night-long quietude
that i disturb
like a child's stomping feet among the prairie dusk.
ii.
i carve a poem,
whole and out of my tightened throat
like a reverse magic trick,
but my hands break in casual irony.
i carve a word out of my tongue
but all it does is bleed.
iii.
i carve a feeling out of a callus but
my paper-skin is left too long under a lavender storm
to still write letters like these.
iv.
the sky cries to a drunken oblivion
as i unwrite this poem in indifference.
i let myself go, like that
dead houseplant drooping in corner of my room
and cheerless, quiescent sheets
watch to pass time.
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