M. Hank

Today the skin of my knuckles split. Blood made a little stain on the back of my hand, and it stung. I saw the splotch, at first, earlier in the day, anyway, and it wasn't too bad, just a little red circle.

Downstairs in the kitchen

Stars are great wheels in a machine sky.

Heaven is above in the metal dome.

You pour yourself a cup of Water.

Let me go back to the mountains 
Back to the trees 
Back to the forest who once mothered me 

Long live the dead we prop ourselves up on, 

The cane we pass off as our leg. 

Long live the gods that money trickles down from, 

I'm looking in the mirror,

I don't match the picture on the screen,

should I be sad or pleased?

One click at a time,

one more scroll,

oops I fell down the rabbit hole.

Let me float

In a sea of poetry,

Words weaving my hair,

Verses like seawater

Trickling into my heart

And lapping against the shores