some cords desire to be bound
tighter, some anchors prevent
us from floating too far away


no wild stallion could compare
to that grey-eyed girl…


The wall is where we’ll hang
it. The empty space in the
living room where only the
dead spend time

The Fulcrum

there was never a
safe space for her
                   inside a body,

Freak Storms

there are brittle
cicada shells beneath
our feet, i’m in them,
i’m a shade, an exoskeleton


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