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When the inner voice
is a shrew,
and the feeling of
When walking is
a cacophony of body parts
in deep protest
against a mind so
befuddled, making life
more difficult and more vibrant
and making mistakes
with every step…
When burdens become
heavy like the alone,
there’s nothing left
and it’s frighteningly
simple to fade.
took over the night
and I opened
all I had
to take in the sound.
It was such a large earthworm, I wondered
if I could fry it and pass it off as dinner.
Would they notice?
After selecting tethered bananas
in a darkened produce aisle,
I tried to find milk of happiness
but tripped over a granola display
and cursed the penny thoughts
that led me to rub myself raw later.
(He is a bemused muse, that’s all I can say.)
When the rain slows down traffic
when it’s colder again
when I want a cookie or kiss
when I’m free and alive,
it’s time to go home.
Handling chicken parts, thinking of sacrifices
knowing both require a side of potatoes.
Will we be happy?
When one hole opens, a window closes
or something like that.
The light hung in an embrace of cloud.
He watched the squirrel.
She laughed with the leaves.
The valley swallowed half sentences.
Jokes would never be finished.
Love songs became questions.
When he spoke, it wasn’t about the spaceship or a myriad colors of skin he’d tasted. He thought about the soft bristles of his toothbrush and wished she would brush her tongue along his teeth when they kissed. What he actually asked was, “Have you been to Switzerland?”
She knew his thoughts as she knew a storm was coming, like a faint ache from an injury that hadn’t yet happened. She felt the cold rush of air from the Alps without ever leaving his arms. She had an irresistible urge to lick his smile.
Shapes of clouds became muddled, fading into sky so it became hard to determine their edges. She watched their hands intertwine and realized she could only feel warmth, and without looking, couldn’t tell where one began or ended. She wondered if this was the beginning of madness.
Projections of grand emotion echoed in private places. There was an ever-present threat of avalanche. Phantom objectifications rested in their gaze. Ship-to-ground sparks made a delightful ricochet. They weren’t sure if they spoke or if message-bearing supersonic waves were being generated by their touch.
Love became the same as a laugh.
Stories would change with the sun.
The river gave life to a dream.
She said she liked licorice.
He admitted envying plastic.
The light escaped to cover them modestly.