marché

it's all swaying like the trees

warm and alive

just reaching

and i wonder if you hear me

standing and waiting

the shuffle backward

would it awake you in the night?

or would you sleep through the alarms?

same old blood that i cannot...

i've tried

but, i cannot get out

it won't come out

without bleeding myself dry

and that thorn

its parasitic head buried just beneath

unknown, undetected in the back of my neck

a friend with misgivings

covered in misspellings

dressed in white

but inside...

nothing but squalor

but i... the "good gentle woman"

invited her into the parlor

forgive me

under my breath

praying for a murder

or painless escape

or something marvelous to spring up

because we're on the edge of something

like the atmosphere is groaning

like the very soil is in labor

ready for something beautiful to become of all of this

to be made of us.