when you say you are whole, you mean this: whispering good-morning and good-night into both hands cupped and a tiny bird’s heart in your palms, humming
you are pointing at the ceiling, smiling, looking forward, teeth that are chipped jealous of the tile floor that can easily be wiped clean-white again, shining, and square
i am mostly cracked-eggshell with the yolk slipping out the side and rolling down palms, making fingers webbed and stuck together, what i mean is this: i am Messy stained bedroom and sock fibers getting caught on the linoleum, stuck
gold-capped tooth like a sewer gritty, keeps the dirt from going down brown-stained lips and teeth and tongue to match kissing the floor wet, and unapologetic like the loud truck that woke me up yesterday morning and today because i thought the world was ending but it was just a Man cleaning the streets
a poem from february that i don't really like anymore