Sometimes, the smallest
Words hurt; aft, the thesaurus
Turns its last page back



Thinking of prison
Of a patient trached
“Bath ready, I know
you don’t like this, but
we’ll be quick, then
make you comfortable”
Cardio pulmonary rolled
her eyes, “he don’t know”
You don’t, his blink

See, police aren’t jury
And there’s nothing
on that chart to judge
Blue inked post it call
detective when wakes
up, it choked, it didn’t
matter underlined hold’s
isolation masked facts
glanced back inside


I’m talking to you now
Sha, like a river, like the
Window binged bridge
Nobody else knows of
Scraped nails to night
Writing star shapes and
Wings singing out of tune
Naturally, as a room found

In The Morning

Moon, baby my curtains show
A little to the right, tonight, I’m
Smiling like the natural curve
I’ve never seen drawn before

As one, make believed dream
Streamed left handed as past
Its window’s frame, traced in
Worrisome what if, it’s unseen


Wish, I could sit
But, I’m dogged
Out the window
I’ve yet to ride
And I’m frail, like
Those before
More, like rain
Traced window
Pain, lapping
Happiness in
Dreams, just a
Dream lapsed
Like a locket
Unframed again

For Them

You’re not supposed
To write about yourself
Someone said they don’t
Want to know
Show your imagination
In dropped stilettoes
Propped against a wood
Burning stove

Red hot anger’s hold
Annoyingly poked over
Bra strapped shoulder’s
Winter’s cold
Brushed flannel fanned
Shivered eye rolls, sighs
Sank bare as summer
Sand nights

Like summit hit beaches
Reaches to anywhere else
Tested with a tip of a toe
As a metaphor dips itself
Into sterling silver felt
Arms, a charm on a chain
I’m imagining