I can\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t remember
\nseventeen syllables if
\nthey meant my whole life.<\/p>\n
Parked in front of a
\nperfect square of green jell-o,
\nlooking through the glass.<\/p>\n
I hear the purr, feel
\nit in my palm gliding on
\ncrackling fur, recall.<\/p>\n
Over her shoulder,
\npast her sunlit chestnut hair,
\nthe clock says, time\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s up.<\/p>\n
A bird thumps the plate
\nglass, falls into the flowers,
\ndead, blood and feathers.<\/p>\n
No one notices
\nbut me. Maybe it didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t
\nreally happen. Now.<\/p>\n
Condensed rivulets
\ncoursing inside the plate glass
\nsoak the moldy drapes.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I can\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t remember seventeen syllables if they meant my whole life. Parked in front of a perfect square of green jell-o, looking through the glass. I hear the purr, feel it in my palm gliding on crackling fur, recall. Over … Continue reading