odd-sock-puppets

[odd-sock-puppets]

when the old fingers dripping moss

gave way to glass piles catching honey

I wanted to follow the branches as they pointed

and run until wires gave way to water

maybe the grass heard me

but only the radio would answer

and I wanted to rot

know you don’t want me

and hold it

apple cider warm and fat

swelling like a pumpkin 

pulping my stomach

sharp stem pulling up my throat

until even words I knew hurt

until I knew hurt

faith still makes me afraid

fairground fly trap humming

fingers at the fence

as it threatened

to spill

on dead leaves