- The skritch-scratch of
a pencil
in a loom
of
only
white
noise.
- As the canyons of my palms
begin to flood,
I only wish I could
unspool the spaghetti
of his brain,
so somehow I could know
what he sees
in the hollow of my eyes.
- Spidering branches
catch the wings of
the mother's plummeting
hope.
It is the hardest part
to watch.
- Your sober tongue
forcibly caressing
her drunk lips
as my heart turns
blue and breaks in
half.
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