sometimes i dont
have the words
for what i need to say
and thats okay
ill keep trying till
i say it right
or till i say it wrong
ill read it back
and taste the error
in the way the words
are pronounced

I see a familiar face
in a dusty puzzle
dumped from the box
hidden behind the viola

a fragment of her eye
and a bit of her hair
painted on the piece
stuck in the roots of
a half dead bloom
most of the peices
must have been burried
several seasons ago

I have half a mind
to let it rot till
the pink of her lips
fades

why do i have to stand
when i could fly
my feet are glued
to a ground set on fire
ive waited long enough
for my wings to grow
no matter how my hand shakes
i will grab each feather
try try try again to stitch together

i'm sorry, I say
i swallowed myself whole
late last night
when no one was looking
rather
when I hid myself away

i ate myself
down past the bone
up to the neck
made wings of my thoughts
and made my getaway

my body is gone
i never missed it
but for when the absence of it
ached so hard I remembered
these wings made from
the flesh and feather of thought
can't carry the weight
of my head forever

the shattering of a lamp
spun in words not mine
mosaic of shards
embedded in a hand
that is, unfortunately, mine
didn't start bleeding till
the 3rd one in
each sliver counts up to 10
I tried to pull out the pieces
and walk away but
I have to rebuild the lamp

I'll rebuild it into a lantern
keep it on my hip
so soft light shows
me down any path
next time it falls
there will be less
shards to clean