i find it funny now,
how long i laid on my back.
then
it was comfortable.
pillow over my face,
hiding from the
annoying break of day
the blinds struggled
to keep out.
i thanked them
for their valiant
effort.
but their duties
are relieved.
now
i sleep
face down.
zee zee zee
Thick white paint,
Static and entitled,
Barks orders.
Cold trunks
Rush upward
To get the last sip
From the martyred bottle.
The tree was glad
To have plentiful golden
Leaves hanging playfully.
To have
Deep roots in everything
For thousands of blades
Of grass around.
She told herself again
And again
That it was Perfect,
That she was enough.
You’ve heard it before:
The rustling
Starts with prideful urgency
But always
Ends with a whisper
Of self-doubt.
— aa
we are
the kindred spirits
who clean the dust
from a worn coffee table.
