That Name

The stale water sleeping on the counter

Purple flowers racing the dungeon of pine

A bowl of stale almonds suffocating my brain

The empty soap bottle tearing my muscles

But the china cabinet with pens and paper

The soul shaper. . .

The picture of a little girl

with no frame

Dry sandwiches between my teeth

Always new life above the kitchen sink

The fawn peeking through your jungle

And that smile

Every time that smile

Like drinking cold water too fast. 

We’re the crooked cut, not the color

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: