Untitled (for now)

I literally just wrote this. First poem in years. It’s something, I guess.


This irritant of a thing,

Lagging on my lapels,

fresh faced and starry-eyed,

too eager, a suspect stranger

& she rushes up through me,

Sweeping like a tidal wave

Leaving me soaked,

with too much feeling.


I prefer to be dry, to the bone.

Skin cracked, stretched parchment

In a space that I can click into

Like a bottle top, tightly locked

Twisted sideways, a familiar

warm cocoon of numbness.


It’s quiet and I can move

With ease, an animal burrowing

Into its territorial habitat,

I shrivel down, into myself

There’s a subtle sting, and still,

She flaps and wails, rudely

Interrupting the peace,

Of a perfect delusion.