dull.

i shroud my head in normal happiness
what could be misconstrued as proper imbalance
your hand is a confounded irony
my head is an apology

stray fire.

spools of thrones, unraveled in the marvelous mesh
of deaf cries and manicured contact

unfinished sentences
conversations barely begun
lines legibly escorted to their tipping points
pens drained

no questions bartered for emblems
i'll wear you on my sleeve
but this old sweater is a pass me up-
picked up on the way to
the well dressed soirée that is avoidance.