I once believed that I moved with the trees and the moon.
I still believe I move with the trees and the moon.
Trapped.
Snapped up in a cage.
Caught by the scruff.
A runaway. And calmed.
The leaves sing to me.
The diamond vomit sky and the moon nestled in
the bottom of a toilet
days and weeks after swallowing the diamond.
Fishing and squeezing and crushing and fishing
for the day
swallowing the moon was a good idea.
It should have passed by now>?<:: p="" zddf90-="">IT SHOULD HAVE PASSED BY NOW!
By now at least. Calm weapons. Hooks and strings
inside the bowl. Calm down.
The moon rises and we stop
clenching. We stop prodding.
We swallow.
