poem
A young woman with two bones through her thoughts stayed with me in the red blood of the morning screaming about how her tooth sings like your truth stings, its lonely in your only home, Swim up your streams of leather so you’re sucking up stains in the valley coming up with whatever you can to try the believer is redfaced the letter is changing the believer says ‘no way, I’ll go back on my own’, I could smell the parade in the haystack wings, the withered old woman with the vintage sting. Nobody took the time or stole the ring to mind the gap and change the thing back to what it used to be. Never was is the same as might not be. For a minute or two what was true turned true blue true as true can be.