So What If I Don’t Exist?
Only dingoes now / The trees don’t weep here / it never got so hot their children kept dying / The rivers don’t dry up and wither to nothing / And I don’t exist / But so what?
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#40 Poetry
in dog years. A real story
A prettier beast: I am vanishing behind the hinge on a crystal blueglass lid.
Anything can be smeared with silver. Assisted discovery; the mouth of an alien spaceship.
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Peeled
front teeth pierce ice / lick sugar off wrists / a piece of sun detaches / voices flicker through the half light / unpinned hair / head on her fist
Leg Stories
I keep introducing myself to people I’ve already met. I’m not good with faces /
or names or small talk. I would feel bad but I don’t bc people mistake me / for any other wheelchair user in the street. Once my therapist said oh / I saw you at the rally & I wasn’t at the rally but then had to pretend I was / so my therapist didn’t feel bad.