The End of Soft
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 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.