butter dreams
it’s like Jacob Marley’s chain,
thick and permanent
this old pain
dragging behind me
carving deep gouges
into the impermanent earth
sorrow is contemptuous
it’s made of yarn
like soft sweaters
draped over my life
dulling the noise
where I sit spinning
like a forgotten record
on an old turntable
I wish I could drill down
as deep as I need to go
split myself open
like a pomegranate in autumn
the slices, so careful, so precise
but I’d still get the juice on my skin
staining my hands
staining the wood
all for the sweet seeds
They might hold all my secrets
I might find my truth
