THE GLITCH OF YOU

Made of cotton nettles, the piffle of your outrage.
Draped in molten steel, an iron cloud mind
mourning the volcano that slept through-
The Ice Age. 

Dreaming of Cutlery.

a small part of your fortune is attuned to a scar.
the one from the moon with spikes
and another, from an empty room
ganging up-

On Your Solitude.

II

under the overpass is a lost taco truck made of ice cream
and musky hornets, fumbling through your things.
an unkempt igloo… stamped into your Pause
like Stopping  could end with a Beginning
that at least had a tent
and a toothbrush.
for a heart.