Shivering, Frida Kahlo’s metal spine, atomize, coiling
My stilettos prancing on national exile
How’d water get below the bridge if not by war and a dream?
A haiku might be what you’re looking for
I’ll only remember my mother when I pass
Missed the exit, too much milk in the bathtub tonight
I’m living a future noir too brittle for this little space
My silence is not a metaphor, for solitude, for masochism
Only an eyeball for casualty on route nine
———·:*¨༺ ♱✮*:·｡.•*¨*•♬✧———
This is a lil composition from Joe's workshop 03/21. Had so much fun making it— it leans towards "pure poetry," so I'll redeem it by never presenting this at future readings