I can’t muster up,

roll up,

a compendium of courage

just enough

to balance onto this string,

so i’m always on


either grappling for gravity


floating (so high I can’t feel my fingers)


teach me these few

things, how not to:

clip fingernails to

split knives, then try to trace my face

or smash teacups

because the house has

ceased to whisper (i can’t stand silence)

or scorch the tips of pencils

when words stay hanging below my throat,


refusing to move any

farther onto paper



if my mind eases on the accelerator,

i’ll make sure to

stand under a storm

and hope for lightning

i’ll have my hands full of

plasma coalesced into electricity

(so blue it could burn your eyes)

at least there’s this


i may say,

that I can dissect,

squint into,

pick and fiddle with

like an old toy

made out of unknown



my life is a time bomb

and i’m running away from

the silence between each tick



from feeling like

an empty hotel room with

undone beds.

don’t leave me vacant,



I’d rather capsize a boat

than have it float

between my two front teeth/an ode to nature

it’s like a gasp,

mouthful of mountain air

after spending




i’ve finally

raised my head

let the crickets

cradle my hair,

wind straighten my shoulders

and ill let birdsongs

stretch my lips apart

so earth can fit through

the gap between my

two front teeth


green, green of

morning leaves,

rustling trees,

broken knees

stitched back up

by the arborescent

fingers and strips

of creation


i feel its


bow down to me

as i bow down to


it’s sacred tongue

glides over the

wrinkles on my

hands, between my

toes and thighs


i’ll let myself fall

back for once

into that cosmic