nameless III

the more of me i see, the less of me i want to be. i feel empty and dreaded and dead inside;

i’m a horn atop a pig’s head;

i still remember dogwood, sitting under my porch;

swinging morning-lilies atop the log,

a fresh throw of frogs on the grass,

pond filled with drains of murkweeds,

sadness in my cabinets

and grief in my drawers.