this small blue speck spins
But I’ve learned
A faster spinning
Of beyblade-o-matic
Paranoia back checks
Check turn sweat dizzy stop

I learned that
Capturing firefly in jars really only just contained the suffocated
moments of my childhood
And moss picking
Under the big blue patio balcony
Was really only me picking the soft spots
On my skin

I can feel that moist tenderness
Magic mud under my finger nails
And it feels so good

But I keep spinning
Whispers enter me irrespective of night terrors and empty jars
They say
Do you remember me?
Do you love me?
Do you need me?
Do you feel me?


You took credit
Said you filled me
A goody bag
But only
With Heath bars, dark chocolate and broken whistles.
You really only emptied me with your snickers
Nobody wanted to taste.
But they took bites
And licked their fingers dry
A bag left
With half eaten candy bars
Under your honorable protection
A bag right
Under your nose


3 thoughts on “Spinning

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