.and we’ll have ourselves a merry little christmas;
once we set the gears in position ’twas but a test of faith to start all things in motion, passing forth into the void as we had always feared was inevitable.
check-mark next to the name; cross whatever it is off the list of everythings forever.
i’m a quatrain not yet formed on the lips of your mother’s misplaced forgiveness. full of riddles with no response and a siamese evil twin you can’t quite shake off, let’s scream into our dixie-cup telephones likes saints and strangers once more.
how many empty glasses carry yr name; crumpled napkins, our story. alas, the dot dot dot futures teeter forward and back . . .
; count the passing holidays on our unclasped hands
the hills we buried
lets sport a spread eagle steam shovel
and call it lost innocence. tim eto run fro m
the hills we buried ourselves under
ye.s i’d rather let my toes wiggle
and poke out dark covers stop period/.
this isn’t another blankety blank blank(et)
ive (un)made my bed of breath-taking;
and misforgo tt en Me rr iment.Kan’t the
spellbound spent desire set our letdown grief afire?
or, who’s the name-calling naturalist this time around?
whitewash all things
with a splintered rhyme scheme