the most beautiful place we know

wonder what it’s like to be written on a body they’re all marked up either way: memories tattooed into the valleys that wrinkles make, words scrawled across the knots in knuckles wonder what it’s like to have been in that room where your mamma held you and you learned how to scream, learned how to grab a person’s arm when you wanted attention and when that attention became a friendship, you still screamed to be heard wonder what it’s like to walk down those streets, hands in your pocket, Singing a much different song than the one I sang when I walked down my streets, my hands swinging beside me. we’re scrolls, because we keep unraveling – there’s always more room to write. Scratch your etchings on me so they’ll become part of the décor that people have to pull back the curtains to see. I like to keep the curtains closed. you wonder what it’s like to be written on a body? it’s a little like setting the table for guests who ne

I never knew a human being could be so very many things at once Never knew she could love the way cornflakes stick together when they're drenched The same way she loves feeling like stolen glitter when the moon comes out. Never knew she could want to be wrapped tight, feeling warm and Still want to conquer the world, boldly, valiantly, with every last nerve standing on end And every last breath lit on fire Gasoline, embers, hot tea. Never knew this human could want to be fiercely brilliant And still fiercely loving Loved Tender; Could tap into iron clad, deep in the bone strength Only for it to dissolve when she arrives in the arms of mother. I never knew a human could want everything in the world And nothing at all, Just as content to publish a library of great books As to pass her days in sunshine. To live is not final.