When I am bored
And empty
As the deed white sky
Things I had shut in
Jostle to be let out
A dead grandfather's
Open mouth and limbs
Stiff with rig 0 r mortis
Your last letter
Words smudged with tears
The door slammed on my face
The smirk of a bystander
When I tripped on the street
The rancid breath
Of the stranger who
Touched me in the bus
The twisting knife
Between my legs
That others call child birth
I am uncapable of
Happy thoughts
Bad memories, like birds
Flit about in the
Dead white sky
I wait for them to disappear
To other climes
But they always return'
They always do
Perhaps once, just once
I will trap them
And pull their wings apart.