by Prophecies In Kodak   Apr 19, 2021

insomnia breathe
causing me to stutter
eight poems from
the notebook
words so tired
no verbs or vowels
not like you
torn from the spine
crumpled in my wrists
bryant style baby
{ you’re the true
slam dunk }

and seven dollars says
you swim with
eyes closed
i keep mine open
chlorine dreams
your blouse
on the dive board
folded pretty while
i unfold you

separated by the fear
of getting close
all my untucked buttons
tired thimbles
heads sticky while
lungs pump brain

the wescott of
my shaking thumbs
your calligraphy
the shell of my being
like ancient hieroglyphics
painting pictures

please let me paint
the BC picture
with you


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