sometimes it prudent to let the reader decide what a poem means.
soft puzzles negotiate the edge. time is a stray dog. scratching at the backdoor of our minds.
wilted fangs. scarred flesh. the leash is shortest when in it's in someone else's hands.
spare the remainder. release the colors. the callous arithmetic of hungry flesh.
small words hold their breath. life gambles with their meanings.
intersections quietly approach us. all empty tuxedos. and songs we can barely remember.
we find our gods in the deepening cracks. stiffened by the prospect that the fissure is the sum.
tangled puppets. devoted to the lies that make them dance.
Filed under: October 2024 Poetry