emotionally unavailable

6/28/20 2:26AM


Ashes fall out of me like

A holy hearth

It’s not Wednesday

But I can still feel the mark on my head


The thunderstorms waver

One minute haunting

The other crashing


And the old thin steel

Of my uncle’s Packard

crackles in the drizzle


There are things I can’t say

But nothing I can’t write

And I still write nothing


What a rout,

Every effort I have

I don’t need to be the red army

Yet I still go on long marches


And birds call in this storm!

Likely just as confused as I

Just pour on me

And fill up my head


The storm made up its mind

And blesses me with disparate




Just like claire used to do