Running with 2 parts too few today,
I’ve left my head and heart sleeping back in
Atlanta. My eyes too wide today,
too filled with scenes I don’t want to see.
A simple mouthpiece for the past tide, so
I let my hands play across the keys.
That upheaval, a twisted serpent of
consumption and renewal.
Our time together is twin-spoken-
a dead language that nobody else can know, or
cares to understand.
My brother, my sister,
my former self,
wispen siblings of my
long gone childhood.
I feel you in the grass growing around my soles,
in the water that flows from the broken caricatures of fountains,
birdbaths of fetid life moss,
that we tied strings to and toppled.
Gushing spouts of glee that we had once and then cracked into
broken forevers, buried in mounds of dirt
and small blood offerings-
scrapes and bruises that have lost their shape in
like the shape of your laugh,
or the warmth of your hands
on my shoulders.