poetry

Ideas of Marie salts the wound and hangs me on a meat hook in the shed out to cure

When she spurts her brine but your the shadow of a dream in their works hallway stairwell corridor on a Saturday evening

Kicking holes in virtual drywall

Incineration of one’s skies: Word in a sentence in my mind that was never really there

Hearts as falling regimes

Room 4033- flash of a parents death on the horizon

Collected pages of a fraying mind

Voices from the Kiln

Highway grotto

I took my door off the hinges

Cage the flora and fauna :i can still feel them crawling under my skin

Specialty fragments tucked, sniped, and beveled :how she digests and breaks down in my system

Quell me with a club like you do those baby seals

Lap me up as saucer’d milk

I conduct myself: call it wiggle room