the periwinkle buds sparkle
sprouting like popcorn or pimples
out dark womb
unfolding papery orange limbs
she shot out into arms that waited for
birth broke records of ancient
earthen tupperware, volcanic store
too valuable to treasure too
priceless to score.
Wind whispered memories like linoleum checkered floor and strawberry freckled apron, coriander, colanders, and calls on the curly pastel landline.
the sock she pulled off during her nap she never took
i remember how it protected her sole
until she decided
it was food.
rest it well, lost somewhere socks go
when they do.
calloused lions hunt clouds hung too high
hungry ocean swallows sky
little girl next door swings
big tree holding her sings
swigs of yesterday sipped slowly sigh
maybe it’s time to say goodbye.
he hangs his head, like droopy ice cream
drips with summer haze and
too many tips
from people this and people that
saying here but running there
confusion like a jello ship
simple like baby fingernails and
snailmail why isn’t the color
seen by flying things
what we think.
starving lions like
protruding ribs and stares
neglect and scares
what if they could see
what they’ve done to me
berry blisters and chocolate Sunday’s melt like ice mirrors in potholes and pocks. grace writes my name in opaque fluff through periwinkle lace, calls to me in the musty mold of depression and vomit. a circle of unicyclists, people trying to pass through mountains with hand drills, and I’m there, too. my heart’s in my hand, shiny pointy glass shattered in six billion two shards reflecting my somber mask, droplets pool on the pieces stillborn like an ancient swamp, preserved and stuck, stoic and sad. I smell the smell for the first time I’ve breathed. No, that’s a lie. I smell it again, again. Maybe yet to come more. The smell of hospital wafts like chemicated medicated chalk rubber gloves, slick and concealing skin, hiding what lies below every throb. discreet. (or so they think). no hospital gown—that other lie of a dress, like undressed mess bare and raw before the front of accreditation. the back ties barely glued conceal nothing as I sit square and cold like people do in waiting rooms, rocking themselves like mothers and moving sloths, remember. Just let it go, the fussy, hungry woman before me dictated. inject this in the spiral notebook spine holding you up some days: go to bed and rest, let go and dissect yourself until you come to the beginning of the circle.
smooth, green bench frozen in cement rectangle,
like memories that scare, scream for attention,
lodged in crevices of file cabinets on lobes,
creeping forward to say hello.
tin trash bin containing yesterday’s debris,
today’s discontent, stationed at curb,
ready to descend.
seagull licks ice cream puddle underneath pay phone.
man in purple tie clips by.
a cloud observes, cries, floats forward.
at least gravity isn’t backwards.
smell of cat urine
white pills, pink pills
orange cylinder capped white
rain, inside me.
baby crocodile spit up
eleven hundred moons
hopscotch sidewalk chalk
mountain’s taste buds
twig waltzing with wind
coral’s Saturday afternoon
wrens frolic with feathered wings in freckled fields
as gold papery leaves, cut and curled, reach
as wooden hands stretch
toward far, floating cotton
tectonic threads woven in earthen
shifting, shaping, becoming.
baby star blossoms,
chick tinkers with her wings,
light breaks night, shatters dark, develops
one click and stark, charred film
one tock tick and yesterday
to new volume.
kaleidoscope wonder world.