Thank the Trees for Falling

How many different personas

have crystallized—white gold

rings that have sprouted? Wife.

 

Servant. Holy Woman. None.

 

Which of my years were left

abandoned by the wolf pack

ripples, gaudy in reflections

occupied with their wealth?

 

You pry my lumbar fingers

with the same tongue used

 

to beg by plastic godheads

for the blistering sins you

forgot: splitting my nails

by the clandestine candle,

plucking out my saplings

 

like splinters. Use my skin

grains to craft your chapel:

alcohol to seal your letters.

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Published by

Jenna

Hello, fellow bundle of nerves and flesh! I'm a simple little being who's half-poet, half-scientist, and all gelatinous chaos. Sort of like an illogical marshmallow. If you'd like to learn more, please seek out the "First Impressions" page. Thank you for the visit, bundle friend.

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