Wednesday, July 5, 2017

Alyssa Trivett writes


Store-bought thoughts haunt me. 
My stick-figured skeleton suspends up the stairs. 
I zig-zag through retired toys. 
The day was counted in bird chirp battles, 
and the creaky floorboards play along. 
Every nook and cranny noise see-saws in my ears. 
The mind wanders like dust-specs in the afternoon sun. 
If only the birds would speak in words. 
I die in the house.
 Nude Descending a Staircase -- Gjon Mili

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