Rain tap, tap, taps on our tin box roof, like a typewriter rhythmically transcribing today’s lesson “Erect postures, elbows at ninety degrees, fingers poised, ready,
Every woman needs a man, Mother told her, to be complete. To submit, she realizes, too late soul traded for high-rise living, big city dreams numbing
Inside intentions defined by authority restricted by accessibility budgets reason no room for bohemian attitudes heart allure of mystery spontaneity luxuriating expansive ideologies dreams effusive
The first comes before dusk as children settle in for sleep and dishwashers cycles engage Clink, clink, clink – bottles rattling – it’s garbage night.
Is the writing on the wall so cryptic – graphic images depicting rage, flames of dissonance, young men bleeding at their own hands compassion incapacitated.
We are children, all in our rawest moments, our needs, like snot running unattended, our cries, like tantrums unappreciated. We are related, all the distance