triggers

Sacrator curve
Cold crescent metal
Finger fit
Resistance
A biting edge
Into loops and whorls
Spine-like arches
Cutting age-old scars
Pulling
Holding
Electric casing
Itching
This damn hurricane inside
Brought on by
Tumbled blocks
Twitched
Like a shot
Twisted
Steel cylinder
Holes made bare
The same marks
As before
Without rest

mend

Within a moment
Suspended
Mending in the air
Grinding time
A rainbowed bubble
Swims swimming
•
Through oil lamps
It looks like rain
Tip toed reluctance
I stop
Going at every
Shut-eyed pause
Inside out sleep
Stretched with a breath
Little obsessive drops
Sparkling stars
As round sour pills
Down swift river laps
Shoring up blood thickets
Branches hold debris
Like the fortunes of
New born babies
Rolling in currents
Spinning sticky browns
Middle-life scaled skin
Now a translucent plastic dance
Held by slight wind
This scroll
These words
My desires
Left beneath my skin
Stops with the sound
Of my heart
Mended