Hunger devours my fingers

one by one.


Eventually, I won’t be able to write at all.


My bunny wears very professional sweater vests,

pushes paper,

makes my neighbors disappear,

Reappear in my living room

naked and odd.


My stomach hates me.

On the kitchen island,

Roses as love letter to my floating shoes.

Light omnipresent,

staring lewdly.


Oh so hard to meditate

on the hillocks of the brain.


Hands going going gone

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.