A list ranking how dangerous things are. A list of ingredients but with everything doubled. A list of old things to take back: black lace, an empty photo album, cobwebs, hands, blue weights. A list of questions to ask. A list of places I visited once. A list of one thing. A list spanning…
The green light means it’s okay to cross the street, but if it’s a light green like the way your eyes are a light brown, you have to cross backwards, and if it’s a dark turquoise you have to sing your least favorite song and flail your arms, and if it’s not green but also not any other…
You turn your notebook upside down for me to see: hello my friend, do you think this will ever end? You hand me the pen and ask me to draw a teapot pouring raindrops across Saturn’s rings, flowing into the mouth of a creature with the mouth of a fish, the mane of a horse, the horns of…
When every glance is a worry — when desires can’t formulate into decisions—when you answer on the first ring to keep up appearances — when you only see the world as imbalanced and crumbling—
When she can’t remember the who, or the why, she takes a trip down the street to the local hardware store. Her favorite part is the gardening section. Specifically, the aisle of seeds and watering cans. She doesn’t understand why the seeds aren’t arranged by color. Or why the watering cans…
Not quite emptiness. Not quite sadness. Somewhere tight rope walking between the two. Somewhere beneath the void beneath me. Not quite frustration. Not quite anxiety. Somewhere between skin and beating heart (sternum). Somewhere under a blade asking how old I am. Not quite excited…
