little thrill

"so you're not a hooker?'
"excuse me?"
"a hugger, you're not a hugger?"
"oh...no. I'm usually like..."
hand at solar plexus pushing away



a chink in the casing
splintered shards
of my blue eyes scatter across the floor
and gather together
crooked and true
I fill the cracks
with the black sludge of my thoughts
a mosaic of blood and blue
to look you in the eye
and I'm talking too much for my comfortable portrayal



I felt a little thrill
in this emotionless tree but it's hard to move me
as married as the speckled red yellow black
stained glass snack plates. but everything is cracking
and you are getting in
the ink under my skin is just a symptom

those people with gelatinous electrified souls
shape shifting in and out of nightmares
they are showing up in doorways
and keeping me out.



I sat in the chair but would have laid on your table
I left wrapped and digested
what makes a person see
an embrace to punctuate another-
it never happened.