drug dealing my awkward
silences for detailed eyelashes
and we are still sleeping;
cure me with your cloudy
palms. birds feathering our
remorse and we believe in
our rooted chakras once again.
pardon my alive as i enter
this darkened sunrise.
this will be my last poem
so that i remember. because before melted steel, there was hand-made, better, buttered words. we can decide if new spaces beneath me can qui...
