Play her a simple melody.
Will write things with her movement.
Two thousand silent words with her body.
Has always been one with words.
Studies the curves of their backs and the lengths or their tails.
Her books climb ladders to the top shelf by themselves, everything needed bounded to their spine.
Keeps her teardrops in a jar by the bedside.
Lies awake, counting them.
Only reads her favorite stories, over and over,
until she falls asleep.
The mind of an insomniac is always in pain.
Favoring the moon? Or the sun?
One dies when the other is born.
Things inside my closet pt.1
Four blue walls, four pink walls, three yellow walls, one green.
Moved everything across the hall got paint on the ceiling,
put pictures on the wall.
Went away, came back.
Took pictures off the wall, photographs of strangers.
Put them in a box, back of the closet.
She told me once that skeletons sleep there.
Seems peaceful.
Out of sight, never mind.
Lost my home, but found a new one.
If you lose yourself, check my closet.
a.bee
