it's not good it's not wet like the underbelly of a petal
it's not green it's not pregnant there's no bliss
and now matter how i turn it it takes no highlight
plants no shadow

i wonder if left alone
if i walk away
it'll unfold and break into itself and just

be, and be alright

large withdrawal

there's plenty of time to be late

so why not stand in the longest line

turbocharge my zen

here #3 of 5

poor teller

awful undeserving teller

a throwaway moment for

everyone here

want not waste not

is that applicable?

this place is a cozy wreck

there's ample space to suffocate

in a stampede 

it's my party i can cry if i want to,

sigh if i want to

die and i want to

my life in the line

actually feels fine

#3 of 7 now

moving on up

o frost,

you call, imbue

my skin with deadness that i may not

touch the grassy softness of spring,

my mind with veils of ice that i may not

know the birth of joy-giving birth that i may

settle into familiar dark alone-making rest

for long asleeping keeping

still, and in stillness

stay, and in staying 

seek the signs, without seeing

until i can regenerate in reverse

and arise dream-divested,

hollowed, hallowed, starving for the onslaught of life