All the things I've grown to forget and everything else that still tends to slide in there

[cageriley]

on occasion the blood held to my heals
as i try to go across
these cornrows of waves
where rocks find it easier
to part ways with soil.

Under your scold and
fits of missing thoughts
i call for surrender

opened
slits and pockets
lined with frantic fingers
catch
the stitch
the wafting thread
obey

the cracking throat
the crooked spine

progress to my tongue
and wage war with mutes
and rests.
Leap into my voice
and speak again.

here i sing in a cadence
i will forget.