my baseline
to hate this chaos moment and the fuckers who brought it
while retaining a sense of humor and interest in reformer pilates.
watch me read aloud a board book, change a diaper, and walk the dog all in the same panic attack;
write president and assassination in the same verse.
who would imagine shattering as survival strategy
the self in shards slogging to winter’s end?
our secret world always turns toward transformation, underground a hidden hotbed,
rage as fertilizer. then, spring explodes.