my mouth stays dry
like the way the word
caveat
leaves my embrace.
i stare into the
taxi headlights on 3rd
and think about the
aura i want to become.
it’s been this way for
months.
there is no progress–
only meager excuses
insufficient
unsatisfied.
condolences passed out
like the hush of a
sunday service
in between a hollow
pastor’s redundancies.
his lips smell like
sulfar–
his voice grates
like the rails of the R.
i am not a succulent
but you choose to
nourish me sporadically
still.

a ripple in
my well–

a crack in
the red brick

wall. my skin
peels slowly–

it flakes more
so every day.

i am a jailbird
dipped in gold

who decided
to flutter away.