Poetry Archives Bio
January 13, 2017
10:45 AM
Porcelain

My dread sends tender tendrils east.
The thread frays.

A galaxy shatters on the kitchen floor.
Its pieces form a comet tail.

Lo siento. No lo siento.

The best writing is confessional writing.
The best writing is repurposed truth.

A bed eats spiders. (Or is it a bird?
Red roses for passion. White for madness.

¿Why does no one believe me

I dig through the debris.
I find the box that holds my aches.

It's black on the inside,
And on the outside yellow, for love.

I bury the box.