forage the groundsof your imagination for possibility
I try to becomea home with open windowsfor the breeze of my emotions
the poet insideis an insecta form of mutual exclusionfrightened and terrifying
where do we go from here?
amid the pompous pain of pinpricksthe princesses made sleepless by peas
there is peace in this dialogue
a part-time writer’s frustrationis the state of brimming withideas threatening to disappear
this is how you want me