edit 11

a miner of dreams,
I stare through time
and
in this one
I lose my shoes
all through the night, the feet, and,
love:

that
is so
fetching.


I am Twinkles, coming apart.
Lost in night’s black-spin

Oh
how it
finds more
hurt, the heart—

is useless

it pushes
any hope, into dirty scars
my skin,
catching everything

like knife points

and all that seems to matter
swirls through
a haze;
a taste of a few good mornings
but mostly bitter.


I can’t uncover
what went unnoticed
spinning on that spine of time
the way
a dream will seem -
as though weeks have passed
and there is no such thing as heat
out here
in this space
just shards of gloom & doom

no,
and I was just me
wearing bunny slippers
when that slippery folly
derailed my journey
plunging me into this orbit
of silence -
hard and common as air;
as twigs on a tree

not even a taxi
can
pickup

a butterfly without the net
a dragon
built to burn
the paper-
cuts


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