Look at me. I am shaking. And you are a chimera wrapped in smoke and denim. Read on, Reader!
Another poem. This one has trees and a sea and a dark kingdom in it, and ton of sleep deprivation. Hooray. Read on, Reader!
Oh, the seasons are changing, aren’t they? The end of summer is the time when a Bluebird’s heart considers poetry. Read on, Reader!
I, at seventeen,/ grand star of that film inside my head,/ am spilling light into the yard/ from my room amongst the trees,/ while peering out into the night— Read on, Reader!
Why are you looking at this frightening picture of me with henna in my hair? Oh, I have my reasons. Do you wanna hear ‘em? Read on, Reader!
It is a deference you make,
a concordance you set
between you, and your gravity.
Then, rest. Read on, Reader!