Today’s got a right rest,
like a dark star ballroom dance,
like sunbathing in a handstand graveyard,
like we’ve compacted radio gas into a go cart:
and we’re sliding by the traction of our eye contact.
When you cheat death for me,
I’ll pass the dance right back to you, because it’s yours.
Still, I put one foot on your bottom step
and feel my belly button like a boom box
and know that I can want you, like you, tell you
and leave you well enough alone
so your roots grow that much deeper.
I’m catching all the right flames in my canines,
still chewing on my silence,
still sailing to the moon.
Yes, I can shatter all the sky
by just saying your name
by dropping words in the canyon water.
This stream it’s dancing with me,
growing oranges
entertaining ghosts that can’t help but walk through walls the never did in life
dance hours hoping they don’t fall through the floor again,
stepping aside for justice and her unicorn.
She says “sit up tall,
open your mouth when you sing.
Friend, what color is your open palm?
When there’s paint flowing down your fingertips,
who’s still willing to shake your hand?
How many tyrants can you topple with a whisper?”
I own my eyes now.
Have them more or less on a leash.
They know where they live
and see Urza Major on a windless night,
by silent wind chimes
and a bag of clean clothes.
blakekathryn
vaporwave
titsay
areudirty
germansingergirl
snowghoul
