Anna Tringale

It's splotchy and dotted on my fringe
To infringe on fractions in fractures from fleeing
A part of me unscrews to say goodbye
My scissors continue to snip

Split ends ribbon between my browns and blondes

Today America held its breath.

I am worth the pennies of projectiles
Am and left with less reproductive rights
Than bacteria on a politician's thumbprint

It is not to agonize, but to organize 
But there is nothing good

So the cycle staid, it stayed
And once again I crave the convex
I contain multitudes 
Nothing

It's like having lungs of glass
Vitriolic one rings to crack
And still, it stays 
Vitriolic is visceral 

I'm taking down the number of the times
It took for me to stall
Time goes left and right and wrong
Baritone's pitch through the ice cores wall

Triumph is as hollow as days after the tragedy 

When away he releases the chalkboard frequency
That scratches the vinyl as a virgin love may call to
It feels raw without the nails to release the frequency
Of a poet's intonation, he may throb to