Up Next

Perhaps the fork can feast

on this tightrope ‘tween the broken plates.

I stumble into the street,

hit with false ferocity.

A lesson in sight reading

where truth tangles with lies.

She is the teacher, I am the pupil,

studying every line.

A cinderblock wall

on the verge of collapse.

The floor begins to buckle

under the weight of this dance.

She is the anvil,

the sidewalk weed,

the rain that waters it,

the toxic seed.