300 words entry 25
I lifted the edge of the carpet in the corner of the room in that room at the top of the stairs at the back of the house in the back of my throat waited for you to arrive.
I lifted the edge of my heart from the corner my heart from the corner of your lips that snagged. Chipped fingernails snagged it’s o.k., here’s some tea, keep you warm, make you warmer.
I took to the lies on the blankets, like took to the lies like an acrobat to high wire, took to the melancholy rain as it’s falling, took me for a ride on the bike through the bay.
I fell to the ground like a wingless, I burnt through the cups in a row, I imagined the perfect forms singless there’s words here we don’t even know.
Give me your hands I imagine, your fingers are more delicate than flowers, they are hands of an artist I tell you, they are poems in the form of phalanges, give me your fingers, I’ll write ten poems about love.
Outside my window the crows. Outside my window the doves. Mourning and cawing and cooing and doing– things I only dream of.
Fly to the edge of the cliff, go to the edge of the sky, lift the corner of sky by that cloud, go through if you have anything left.
We can go deeper. But we’ll stay automatic. We’ll stay systematic, trapped in what doesn’t make us happy but what does make us learn. I lift that corner. Matches.
I am here all alone, in chaotic, perfectly at odds with the dew. It’s raining somewhere. I’m home. I am not for you. Lifted to the hilt by the rainbow Gods. Hardwood peeking through.