Spring: Almost Gone
An entire train of wrought
iron fences, keeps me nailed
to the tracks, always with
one thumb out and waiting
for a foolish stranger to
let me climb onto their back-
Spines are good for growing
and mine just seems to, stretch
on: entire hospital wings kept
safe under these things
called arms, but they’re just
vessels to me.
Because I wrestle with ideas
and petty feuds inside my chest.
Because I am a simple mess,
meant for dust pans and dark
corners, never settling for less.
“Settling” is perhaps the
dirtiest of words… worse
than “fuck” or “cunt”.
It drills into my bones and
makes nests with the spiders,
yes “settling” is for strangers
with no use for outsiders.
