The End of Soft

Published in the Jan/Feb 2018 issue of Ink in Thirds

butterfly home

sliding all the way

to the break we once made.

decisions soaked in yellow hues

of fears we always knew

separating the past while obliterating

the future.

of who?

the congregation of flowers on your head

are organized too brightly,

shining like neon crowns of

a dissolved ancient monarchy of sound.

stillness never resting,

thrumming, pulsing, pounce.

finding the line to pull it down.

blacks smothering whites,

bequeathing grays of necessity.

running, running, running,

towards the backwards of reverse.

rain seeping out of the ground

like lava or magma or whatever

the queen decides to call it.

we all discover we’ve had jaundice

this entire time.

because she says so.

is this skin on my face melting,

or just shifting anew?

who. are. you?

never, ever, dark, blue.

x’s on o’s tickling the spaces

between my – I have no more toes.

Alexander Rigby