The Saturday Poem: Twigs


in a place where twigs stomp around

wishing that they were trees,

a candle at every corner silences your questions

thinking is an afterthought

numbness is a side effect

cracks in the pavement remind you of gum on a different sidewalk

and your feet in the sand are hands

hands near your hands with an evil plan

fingers that patiently tap morse code

yes oh, yes


imagination is tangible

it is big spoon

in the morning it kisses your forehead before it leaves for work


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