what turns over
my filthy little heart
its broken doors
run hiding from neutral announcements
i have allowed six things
to pass discretely through me
shunned the rest
although what is tangled
between earth and love
comes unbroken through shelves
where i do not pluck from.
hidden neath underside of heart
why blackness
what has rotted and what turns and turns
roiling in fantasy and sickness.
what you do not know
laughs and sticks to garden
voices and plummets downward
into the frozen tundra of you.
i have not allowed
morning to come
unbuckling through me:
but yet it melts
over skin and feeling
returns me to time.
another time would lapse
and i would fracture my understanding
for a little light
a little dose of what we should call hurt
fathomed as light well yes
they are the same thing: hurt and light
come cradling the same voice
and yet we do not know them
by the same name
only they know us
by our broken triangles.
shelves present:
morning, silvery digits
i have not yet woken
words scream utter silence
i have fingers they blink lights
and in the trees my toes curl objectively
mine and not yours
mine and not yours
today is celestial
the broken tooth of sunrise
commits errors and i screen the voices
of tomorrow for their dirty silences
once again i come crawling
out of some face
belligerent and posing
allowing me to ask for neon
and bending me toward the moon.
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