literature

cool looking stick

six blighted trees all in a row

tangled

mess

on the weekends I like to lie

in bed with your absence

rubbing

out the knots in my neck

checking

to see if you’ve appeared

but

still

no

I’m restless

and not doing anything about it

imagining horrible things

cutting

the pieces of rope that hold my eyeballs in their sockets

dropping

them into a jar

better now, better now

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creative ways to obstruct your breathing part deux

longing turns to flatlands

to trees I used to climb in youth

to closing the blinds in the afternoon

and falling asleep to slowdive at 4pm

waking to little hungry mouths on my fingertips

still wailing

so I shove them in my pockets

bound and gagged

and go!

out!

to look at your old house

down on cathedral street

where I’ll stand until it starts to rain

and then some