something more than someday, too.

..

she’s doing it again; layering her skin
with doubt and promise, polishing

the way she says I’m fine when she
means to scream. she’s counting

all the clicks and the tics and the
tocks and the way that the clocks

can be counted on, always. she’s
playing the odds with the calendar

since it’s got a leap in it and a wily
way of boxing her in. tomorrow to

-morrow, to sorrow she sings and
brings herself to a significant sway

of salted sane. she’s carefully de
-constructing her selves, empty

-ing her shelves of stuff she doesn’t
need.    take a beat.    listen to the way

her feet pitter-patter(n) and spatter
ink in her curious wake. she’ll take

you somewhere, sure. a cure for her
own chaos. a smudge-sigh of strange.

 

..

Advertisement