My shoes are made of china,
the white and blue decorating
my spectral feet
like moon shadows.
Everywhere I have ever walked
has been coated in bone or glass.
I avoid mirrors.
They show me all my thoroughfares,
and all but one are cruel.
The last is frightened.
Little by little,
my feet bleed.
The friendship between
nail and noose is
careful, refined.
Outside the pharmacy,
a pale and rain-soaked line.
What I know in my head
I do not know in my wrists
that hide a way of love.
The tree is held up by a cable
wrapped around Gabe’s hand
at the other end.
On the tree,
a sign nailed in
“Welcome.”
Tall meagerness
looms above my cold day.
Greatly desired ghosts
refuse to descend from the trees.
While vegetables sleep in
the earth,
hunger tugs at them gently
trying to lead them to birth.
I feel empathy.
So little to see.
So little to say.
The height of my soul
An inch above sea level.
Above me,
a lack.
Kindred cartwheels
spread like a virus
from child to child.
The cotton candy machine
spins discarded hair
like it was cotton.
The children are always awed
by the taste
of old age on their tongues.
Behind the tent,
parents time stamp
the infants
and tattoo names on each other.
Little rollercoasters
struggle for an
adolescent speed.
Lovely, lonely road in Fountain that leads to a school.
Childhood is a charlatan
I have eaten all the
red lollipops there are to lick,
and my face is permanently stained.
I am a constant victim of curiosity.
Free time flies away
on a paper airplane.
I left my wherewithal
in a cubby.
No one ever told me
just take three licks.
Take your licks now.
Miniature Moon 