Crows on Concrete

She lies a sidewalk
burning souls, dying
on a summer night
morosely ascetic
hair curling, curled earlier
a precarious charm
meant as curative
for another weekend
entombed, concrete feet.
Crows, satin cackles, claw
obsolete across her lips
unaware of the introverted
oddity, feeling
tonight, distinctly, alone.



Summer Break

a gaping mind,

battlefield seepage, 

feels disoriented, raw


when faced with four months 

of personal leisure,

a holiday?



Self-prescribed expectations 

of a birthday, almost

20 is an adult already. 

Needs a license

a car

a boyfriend, significant 

other, lover

work, work, work

on digging in the dirt. 

You need a vacation

sunset destination. 

Always buried under

something, unfortunately

not a man, they scoff

she must be empty 

hearted, full minded. 

A social experiment

in anxiety.  


(Good) Morning 

She woke up, unfortunate

fortunately warm

and safe

and breathing


in a gentle metronome

before consciousness, still

a faded figment of a sketched girl. 

Then the pen slips, 

buckets slosh,

cold, icy ink condensates

along her brow;

the queen adorned, woven

in a tiara of anxiety,