cut on the dotted line
i take the mighty scissors
all the way across town
to where the instructions are perched
& preening. lately
everything has been asking
to be severed. my friends grow
dotted lines criss-crossing
all over their skin.
the lines used to make sense.
one for solace. another
for crafting a mask from wood.
now, everything has a splitting wish.
the instructions drop black feathers
all over town. i follow them
to the edge of the forest
where no lines will reach
dotted or otherwise. i always wanted
to become un-outlined.
my colors smudging.
leaving mess wherever i'd go.
instead i was given boundaries.
spiders webs have been skipping.
eyeliner lines too. give me
a sign we are not just
in between leaps. the chasms
that ask to take the world whole.
the instructions laugh. do not know
what they are asking. i snip out
patches of dirt. a laundry mat
cracks open like an altar.
no one told me i was in the other half
but then all the clocks
filled smiling melon. i'll take
the six hours i can get.
my scissors chirp
pretending to be a song bird.
bite down on soil & asphalt.
i look at my hands. dotted lines
in spirals on my palms.
try to wash them in the parting water
of the blue stream that
someone else has already cut
a few miles up. "i just wanted to know
how i was supposed to survive,"
i tell the instructions who calls
before vanishing again
between my breaths.