Poetry Archive

What would you
like to do now?

The face

staring at me

before bed

floats

above a body

I don’t recognize

hair parted

on the wrong side

like a quarter moon

in a phase

I’ve not seen before

I Feed My Voice Shards of Glass: I feed my voice
shards of glass
gray gutted tires
steel veins splayed
through split rubber
blades of grass
bent and broken
an ear torn from a doll
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