Apr 26


born by chives, wisteria. i’ve been well but embalmed by last night;
i can’t carry one’s bone to my house, can’t sew a ripened meal with a buried hand.
saw them link, i wasn’t there. i could write of being uninvited, but it’s communal and i’m closed by tides; days revolve around one, i’m driven to a muted bed.

you don’t know me well, the grievances on my floor. 
oatmeal was revived by ginger, a blonde in a book.
i burnt my omelette reading an email this morning, then split a date in half.
carrots soft again but charcoaled rims because of someone else’s shoulder and my metal fork; i’m distracted by the weight of it.
in love with the gritting of my teeth. drawn to the release of it and furtive mouths, with lemon peel, sweetened. grocery store muffins, say my name or write it on your sleeve; they are so unlikely
i accidentally cut a hole in my retainers with my teeth. i told the dentist they were sharp, he said i just grit them. gave me a new one, defaced it again.
nothing grows but chives.