I thought I was
safe...

There are only
so many pieces...

You know they're kind of the same
both like art...

If I could write something pretty-
I imagine it would feel...

Winter warmth
felt icy, so I ran...

I use the white noise of tv
to numb the voice...

I crave it deeply
passionately...

When the snow flurries
and the sun slices...

like being erased.
like being snuffed out...

When does it become too
late to want...

Like a pinwheel spinning
a child dances...

Laughing, laughing
spinning, shouting...