Why did I scratch markings into the sides of acorns and scatter them in the yard ( Read more... )

I don't know what to say ( Read more... )

Do you think you will end ( Read more... )

I hate these afternoons and mornings and evenings and nights spent mostly in waiting. The unbroken narrative of hours hardly passing. There is something i'd rather be doing. But I don't know what ( Read more... )

Walking away, I am unshuffled, I am temporarily ( Read more... )

This week, clocks have failed me -- they have grown sleepy while I slept.
Their arms grow heavier with every spinning second, they slump
into their sixes and fail
to rise. The hours pass, un-tallied,
unaccounted for: when I wake
my clock shrugs, but does not insist.

The flowers change their shape (the cosmos are dying,
all the color drained from their faces, like patients waiting for an iv, like
anyone waiting for anything)

Too broad.
I don't care. A million things to tell you today. How the smallest things crawled into my stomach and stayed there.

When you die ( Read more... )

I have not been myself in days. I have been shelled ( Read more... )

Today, you smell chemical-clean ( Read more... )