still

tiptoeing down a
spiral staircase
to arrive at the room
where a breathe from
a couple years ago
a memory oh I
remember it was the
smell of a worn in
sweatshirt
home
slightly woodsy
breathe full
of found branches
cranberries
leaning into warmth
a memory

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fever

I feel myself control water
around him
drowning
he came in through the front
door pouring ballpoint pens upon
the hostess stand
he said he was a hoarder
a few months later
I realized that
he had a
fever and he said yes touch my head
is it hot
now i sit with a heaviness
at the awareness of naivety
connected
glassy blue eyes
and the dark moments
of intuition

room of ones own

sitting in the corner chair
staring at a room of white
and blue paintings that I’ve made
there are plenty of green plants
to contrast
I miss New York and the cold
I would have been feeling
I miss the stovetop that I had to light
with a lighter
there was a smell of
several seasons
of decay and bloom
the cycle
that just isn’t present
in this place
in this chair in the corner
of my room

Things found in poems:

Waves.
Pants left in a Holiday Inn, a heartbreak
The woman across from me picking hairs off her sweater.
A rusty nail.
Blades of grass in the sentimental seasons.
Setting sun.
Dark blue glass bottles.
Black birds.
Crossed out lines.
Black pen ink.
Coffee mug stains.
Pressed daisies.
Sea salt.
Honey.