Piquant wood shavings
build houses from one another.
Natural selection,
the choices of the man in the barn with his saw.
The light chooses not to touch those with old tongues any longer.
If I went to the light, I would find a locket of gold.
Choices are envious of boxes. To make a choice is to sew yourself to something that runs faster than you can.
When choices are all spooled out and the thread is cut, what remains is a saw and a veil of night.
The well-off at the ossified marina count the crusty salt crystals. Orange corn poking from the windows of my old home dare me to grind my teeth on it. At the mouth of the bay of wine, bad memories teeter. The division between food and teeth is stark. The division of drink and thought soft. She strays from the wine to my old house and its belligerent farm.
Rough draft
I am (despite my longing for a solitary house with a gun rack by the door and a no trespassing sign) friendly. I am also an Aspie. I sometimes have fewer boundaries than other people.
Recently I was passing through the gate to get home and I had some big bags of candy I had just bought on the front. I bought them because I was manic. I don’t normally spend 16 dollars on candy. The gate guard noticed, and I almost said, “I’m manic!”
Quickly, in the back of my mind, I thought, “Don’t tell him something so personal.”
So I yelled, “It’s my time of the month!”
I am always like that. I get up to a register and the tired, fed up woman behind it says, “How are you today?”
Then I proceed to tell her. “I have a headache, but I am really hoping to relax on the porch swing today. My bad ankle hurts and my meds aren’t working. But I am watching a marathon of Toddlers and Tiaras!”
No one is prepared for that.
I don’t have the filter in my mouth that I would be more likely to have if I was neurotypical. Sometimes it is fun. People probably think I’m nuts, but they warm up to me and I can be really good at fostering relationships that are open and honest. Other times it throws people for a loop and they run away. I try to turn off the Asperger’s part of myself, but it’s hard.
Banished to the well, the little boat that steered itself.
No strength welcome here in the miserly home of wrens.
Shoe laces control a careful electricity.
Wrens like knives, ask toddlers to carry them.
Glad Gloria had the boat. Now she has her name changed. She will never be 3.
The wrens eat well, don’t share with one another.
My lips are freaks.
I am burlesque.
I am not a performer
What my figure is full of
Could add to addition.
Doors show more than windows
Depending on their angle.
Piquant wood shavings build houses from one another. Natural selection, the choices of the man in the barn with his saw. The light chooses not to touch those with old tongues any longer.
If I went to the light, I would find a locket of gold.
Choices are envious of boxes. To make a choice is to sew yourself to something that runs faster than you can.
When choices are all spooled out and the thread is cut, what remains is a saw and a veil of night.
Often, when I make gratitude lists on here, it is to cheer myself up. Today I feel very good. I still want to make a list though. Praising God is important.
Miniature Moon 