To the core,
I could be rotting
As an apple does.

My thick skin is
Peeled away

But it’ll be a challenge
To chew me down
To remove the seeds.

Hell carries my blood—
As I am a puzzle that brings
Confusion
To one-track minds
That would quickly turn their
Backs to rescue their views.
A lost cause—that’s how
I stain their eye,
A lost child in need of saving,
But only if the points
Are earned and I am
Thrown away.

Will the end be reached
With a clear head ready
For the clouds—
I want nothing in my hands
But certain amity
With what my back carries.
I wish to remove the led
From my shoes but in
The early hours, I slip
Them in unknowingly.
I’m sorry clouds.
I know to leave the weight
Behind and I’m working
Toward being a feather—
Easily carried by the sky’s
Breath to meet you in bliss.

Feed me to the flowers

And I’ll green their stems

While ghosts

Leave painted stones

To honor progress.

A delicate rift is in the works
And where will we be when
We realize we’ve fallen over
The brutal drop?

Our eyes remain motionless,
Deceived, hardwired for
The next best thing

As we wrinkle and fingers
Begin to fail.

I no longer want the
Glue in my eyes,
The black and white,

The muteness of
False connection.
I’ll break through the
Stones around me and
Want for others
To do the same.

Eulogy under a gumshoe sole,

Burning—dragged between tire tread,

Papers blotted, lines crossed out,

Unanswered apologies, sweating

Under embers that dry tears.

We are at a breaking point

In a summer lost to nostalgia.

If the sun rose at midnight
The empty woods would wake,
Stones would bounce and rest
Upon glassy-surfaced lakes.
Electricity would shout and burn.
The truth would live
In the uncovered shine.
Cut loose leaves would return
To stems and live as if they
Were mine.