Shadows are strangers waiting to be met, gazed into, get lost in. Some may catalog lectures. Others watch our rage rise.
I imagine a man mopping the floor with my face. When he’s done, I spit in his.
My mother buys me potted flowers to see if my heart can grow beyond my son. I kill them every time.
White is an arrogant color. Taunting. It will kick you when you’re down or tangle you in a bed sheet.
Somehow it all comes together without our understanding.