dead nerves

trace the line they make

from foot to floor-

my skin crawls

with the shock of feeling again

and you can’t take this from me.

---

willow bark for my head-

never enough,

though,

for my heart.

crush the leaves i gather

in my hands.

An offering to you,

love,

something to whet the incessant

swelling of your ego.

varieties of nightshade

line our pantries,

and soon enough

your tongue.

---

cresting my mountain-

feeling heavy in the air.

I’ve found both the

beginning and end

and with no water in sight.

Why then,

am I still drowning

while I

laugh at the lack of

icarus paradox to blame.

And

also at you-

smug,

event-

ually

(alone

     )