Tuesday, December 2, 2014


Goddamn I love the sad smell of cedar, how it's musk weighs, in the closet soaking my clothes.

She's dusty, on the mantle, she leans between the naked angels and dried flowers.

I love sandpaper, the dust that makes me sneeze like I'm coming.

Im a little dark woman. I make things with my hands.

I fall asleep with my mind whirling thoughts like how no one has two shadows,
how in another life I'd become a truck driver--   
that endless road, all those lit cities, those unwritten poems.

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