Saturday, June 6, 2020


i chose to hide
hiding until not even
the moon and constellations
could find me now

see, this is the quandary
of innocence

your crime becomes my skin
becomes my marrow
where your violence went is
a roadmap of never will

i may have chosen
the dusty attic and cobwebs
with a bed tightly smashed against
the broken wall, but i never

chose such marred sheets

in my dreams
i still have fingers replaced by tentacles
and the quiet streets and the ones
i most fear

*Published in Black Flowers Literary Journal, Volume Five