Poetry

Green wraps its arms around four walls
squeezing them tight only allowing
wind’s small squeals to seep through the crevices

warm, autumnal orange
the kind that made me want
to grab my docs, and a pair of shears
and make the 26 minute drive to Chiles
to pick the perfect pumpkin

Darling, how enchanting it is to be
the teeth sunk into the edge of your neck

Mannequins are made of wood, and humans of flesh, but what about souls? What cloth do we dress them in?

i must
feel
the rain
pitter pattering on the ground

now press your tongue against your teeth

say rot! say truth! say life’s a brutal game

Clean the cobwebs out of your ears, my dear,

you are putting yourself back together

and I want you to hear me as I say this:

you are ready to step into yourself

The longer you stare at something the scarier it gets. And sadly, that’s your most used sense. Your sight. Your eyes.

But they were dunnock blue.

Holding contact was

the easy part.

I stitch my dress back together with the same floss the doctor used to fasten the skin