“Ew” faces look like wrinkly lettuce leaves,
or so some omnivorous rabbits say, a baby’s eyes seen sideways seem like button holes, or so some sleepy dreams claim, but even in the waking world they breathe
Tag Archives: poet
Quiet Hands/Screw ABA Therapy
Quiet hands don’t tap the desk quiet hands don’t flap quiet hands cause no problems quiet hands hide in your lap quiet mouths say “fine,” “I’m sorry,” “my bad”
And you think this theater has crumbled
Pick a side, any side, we don’t care, we just like you mad, cuz mad people’s glares blind them in the mouth of fangs ready to chew up strangers like foolish prey.
The clicking of the tock
The well in my heart leaks out salt wishes like this: despite my best attempts to never go back, my tears– like portals– open windows over cities and centuries and pour storms upon you to water your garden. *** A thematic part 1 buy me a pizza
Hurricane
Frodo, in Lord of the Rings, him being so weak is what makes him strong enough to carry the ring–contradictions like that, weak and strong in a cycle, currents of cold and warm clashing, collapsing, bottoming out, that’s the hurricane
exhilarate/annihilate/landscape of a heart
please describe yourself, in as many words as you like, our words are boxes, so check all of them or just one of them
April Truth
I raised my hands to the heavens you came from so when you left I cried drizzles on this pitiful desert, but my arms are strong, they always did hold up the sky, one day I might lower them
March Ache
Write another masterpiece but for what purpose, to prove to people who won’t listen you’re here? (That assumption, “won’t.”
February Lies
Listen, can you hear us, pouring our heart’s grief into the keyboard? clackity-clack-clack my nails tap a peppy drum beat, staccato and quick– that way, the eavesdropping neighbors next door’ll never know the song’s so sad. But it’s there, it lives on– if my words could guide you through the dance routine they’d yank yourContinue reading “February Lies”
If a word exists, you were not the first one to say it,
So let me be the first to say, Happy San Paddywack Dia, alleft, now get a gerbilish move on, a crouton meets Charon, a Pluto meets Pharaoh, go grab that batter thingy kerbober or we’ll go zeroely conbotcher, take that, you’re a piddly puff, a pinky pie, fztcrack the bamclack and ripreronrahroo. Oh, it’s easyContinue reading “If a word exists, you were not the first one to say it,”
Jordyn Saelor 