The fierce airs of the storm, as it involved our lungs and howled in our frames, would inspire in us the revolutionary acrimony of heaven
I am every tree, every freefalling stream water, the hum and sway, the forever aching upward
The egg felt funny on her forehead as he gently rubbed it in circles.
So I am removing this vicious tuft, i am proclaiming myself an eternal lover, eternally unloved
I am so sorry I did not save you I just sat there I said nothing
I think I have put myself through
too much lately
I sip in the sweetness but still I am scared of the wideness of the world and the smallness of me
And I know you’ll hate this poem, you’ll say it’s too much gore
So I will be the keeper of your taxidermy memory if you will let me
The Lord is my Shepherd, I want to hide under the pews.