The brush strokes a burnt orange arc across the canvas, provoking joy with a bit of pain…
A Nonet poem.
I’m not meant to own this vessela precarious body, so hard to wrestletoo much, too delicate, too…
back to beinga poetagain.after quitting 18 times.
The girls and gods know this is not who I am
I am a monumental stainon her Shakespearean dress
My bones would not withstand the fractures,
When all the city lights turn off at once.
creativity sees me happyand misses my melancholy
My teeth are sharp.
My thoughts are wise.