f[(l)ight]
fight or flight or fli
ght i keep mis
(tak)ing though one grows feathers
one grows punctured lungs
slightly left (sinking into) sky drown like
a parabola when delta (< 0) won’t drown
in the sky become (undefined)
a single negative root of color but f
light survives apart while f
ight cannot hear
the l
ight.
灰姑娘
grey girl grey girl
how can you smile when goosebumps wrap my arms
like language i cannot read have yet to learn like sunlight
the sun litters (warm embrace) put me on blast a borrowed voice
something borrowed something blue
something bloody something crude
ear phones say go forward go for word
walk on knives on glass in glass
no detours no death tours but i keep falling
the poets have it wrong; the world doesn’t turn grey
i do
my legs。
my tongue。
my eyes。
my, my。。。。。。
why do I turn grey, grey girl
Sideways and Upwards
Feeling Feeling
down down
Arms w f
h a
e l
e l
l i
i n
n g
g d
own
How to describe it.
There is a stone in my stomach
buried so long
it learned to bloom.
Your teeth grow pointed without you listening
but the appetite for blood is mine.
The stone in my stomach, buried
so long it learned to bloom––
weeds bludgeoning concrete
lunging through my throat
drawing blood from my mouth
onto white
paper roses.
Sisyphus pushed his futilely.
Mine learned to grow on its own.
I raised it well.
Feeling
down. up
Fogging
Misting
around.
up
You feel instead of because even tears
down
cannot defy gravity, but if there’s a fire
rise
you can mist and fog and
But I have a cold, not a fever
am not even hot enough to feel
side
ways
When Pigs Fly
When I heard “when pigs fly”
in second grade,
I pictured wings of fat and soot—
pigs jetting past smokestacks,
their eyes still wet
from factory steam.
I’ve seen real pigs, since.
At the wet market.
Hung by the hooves.
Mouth open.
No wings, no mercy.
Maybe we don’t believe
in heaven anymore.
We leave our wings
hanging from iron hooks.