during the third freefall

metro riders
hold gilded memories
of the carousel

archetypal and mighty,
it haunts our flimsy shells

a Nigerian child
in white tulle, organza rosebuds,
hair plaited crisp, tight

I remember
the collective, drones or angels,
who can say?

sail with me on the tale
of neverending air.

always in blue

you drizzle keepsakes,
always in blue
on curbsides and cross-walks,

my back bends
my fingers snatch

I know how hard it is for you.

moral sense

how is it
that you always knew
which line was yours?

Never once did you
double cross, criss cross,
cross over to the side of gloom.

Perhaps—
it was the tin crucifix
that kept you safe,
that guarded your worth,

that
and the silver bullet
which nudged your thinnest cloth.

Rue De Terrebonne

hips and hearts thrust
tangled on Rue de Terrebonne.
forever shaded,
arthritic branches do nothing

but remember. Before rose-red,
before clotted pink, green silvered
in moonlight, rotten yet sweet.

watching you die

almost everyone wants
to be so many places at once
until—it stops

infinitely, the curiosity
you used to trap
in bakelite jars
and intricate boxes

now brutally unwrapped.

the year of my recruitment

post-apocalypse V,
I was recruited as Juicy, cartoon character,
with only a partial path back.

not quite stranded,
I reshaped every feature
and fantasy: hollyhock, starfish child.

doors opened in and doors
opened out, but I was always alone,
glittered in doubt.