Apr 9
A Process of Wondering Which Begs Me to Question
how love makes us want a thing we don’t want how it makes you want a shotgun or a whistle to blow to want love to bite, chew us up, and spit us out into something pretty and purposeful, maybe love is a ghost we called a séance for we sit around the table waiting for love to answer to our magic knock once for yes twice for no and no knock comes neither does a whisper and now we are outside waiting for smoke to fall from the clouds as a sign that our voices were heard in the mirror we chanted spells into for renewal an awakening my heart is a dog in a kennel barking for release for a wind to blow the door off the cage and run