I live in patterns of
misguided energy...

I hear broken syllables
mixed with chaotic traffic...

Hands feel like ice;
clasped together tightly...

There are times in a woman's life
when her lower lip crinkles...

And even if the ghosts don't sing
their hollow echos after 3 am...

During times of wintry blizzards
fallen pine cones follow snow boots...

You dont read me because you forgot
what its like to walk in my memories...

Stars collecting dust
within a dwelling full...

I've worn holes in my slippers
for all the times these feet have...

Summer 1979-
I felt a heated sun soaking my...

Your mentality
has corroded over time...

There is an intersection
within my imagination...