the multitudes I contain
are heavy and I
by virtue of a pipe dream
am a stone
in someone else's pool
by this, I mean
my hands are rough, my eyes
choking //
there's a forest fire burning
through the wasteland
catching on my scars //
by this, I mean
I tried to have an open
home // open window,
open door // something caught
in the cracks
by this, I mean
I start // and stop //
too many phrases
with the same vowel,
same wrong word every
time //
(they say stop speaking
those letters // I'm inclined
to let them try)
YOU ARE READING
To Be Determined
PoetryBook 4 of seemingly endless poetry (or should I say possibilities?) Some poems are real life, some are not. Think before you assume.
