words the color of frozen blood
fall from my fingers and onto
a blank page, breaking its indifference

with a cracked smile:

like the rise of empires,
lucid and prepossessed,

my every truth is only transient.

all innocence

a little thank-you note
to a stranger i never met
for the smell of a sweet cologne
which lingered on the skin
just above my waist,
ignored the mirror,
the doubt and the regret,
buried them  deep
inside the curled ball of me and the damp
expensive sheets where i fell asleep
hours afterward.

the transient

that day something in the sky

wasn’t quite right.

muddy-fielded February

left footprints across the threshold,

lost herself in waves and eddied reflections,

drew in dry breath

and scoffed at anthropomorphism;

looked up at the sunny sixty-degree sky

and shrugged.

something wasn’t quite right,

her insentient shadow fallen grotesquely

without consideration for rhythm or aesthetic

and so turning her back without consideration

of turning back

from uncertainty, from darkness

she walked.