on the forehead of splinters we placed magnets and jammed the entire mess into mouths. how you can junk up a kiss, twist roses from the brief and accidental. a pullback grin reveals a petal slipping out, a dribble slick caught and pulled to the right by a palm, teeth bared(cranberry-corroded cumulous polygons, too quick to catch the light).

a tiny big thing. a dream. i spent the morning watching orca pods migrate, and a lone one snack on a sea lion too close to shore. the big mass caught and flailed, having to wait for the waves. you can spell out the moon phase by the way my saline hits the brim, knocks it aside completely. over orcas. i am feeling inspired but stunned. i’d rather not think about the new snow on the ground.

fast to my tributaries, paper boats and penny captains. holes in the sail! patchwork to our necks! one leg in the lake, drop anchor in sand that gives way like a punch. somewhere near a free way, the swooshswish-galump-galump of compacts and trucks. rolled letters into themselves, stuffed the fence diamonds with them, the overpass. the bad graffiti, the weeds, the way you’d have to climb up and backwards if you wanted to jump. you’d have to be hellbent. the letters go here because we are out of stamps, and afraid to ask.

on the saucer, a sprig. crumbs and baker’s string. i hoard baker’s string, use it for hair bits and book stacks, letters and photographs. i slip the found into my pocket. it’s hard not to wish you could see me now–i look kind of wild. i know i did then but now it’s pretty serious, very certain. it’s a good kind; the unbrushed, the slight wrinkle, a splinter, a force. like i’ve been tearing down walls with my bare hands.