Designing My Own Destruction From Glitter

The road curls into

a ring I wear on my finger.

The humid spring air squeezes through

my open window,



and loved.


Somewhere out there I am a baby

Writing great epistolaries in brooding vomit.


In the center of a field,

I’m ignorant,


too generous,

my senses plundered

by clouds of venom


I can’t go back to the day I left

My universe of birth

and I don’t want to.

I rinsed the dust of it from my hair.

I glow pure yellow into the waking calendar,

designing my own destruction from


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