10/21

i built a pile of leaves to live inside

there's a foliage for this melancholy
or a least a color scheme. 
you said the trees on your street
are turning red. i stole their leaves
for a front door. what will you do
with your nesting nightmares?
i'm going to tiny-house myself
into the next decade. soon i'll be
eighteen days old & the sun's roots
will have done their work. i'll be
stuck on earth with the rest of you.
i feed on nothing but dampness. leaves stuck
to my skin. collage-girl. do you see
a man's face in my chest?
is your stained glass ripe? 
the rake in the yard snapped in half
under all the gendered pressure.
he wanted to wear his mother's heels
but now he harvests dead leaves
from the back step. a dress
is always a possibility. what do you know
about fire escape routes. i'm hoping mine
will save us from the seasons change.
we need a thicker moon if we're going
to make it without any government assistance.
my grandfather built steam engines
& a leaf stuck to his heart
before he fell off top a ladder.
very few people are lucky & we should
pin them down & search them for green.
i am prone to falling. i once snapped 
a bridge in half. you should
go on without me. my house will soon
blow away. just the furniture
standing in the middle
of Pennsylvanian forest. 
i'll be nowhere to be found. 

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