the blueshift journal

Take back the bus,

the toy umbrella,

 

the ballerina gold dust

sprinkled

 

on your nakedness. 

Rewind the day, 

 

the spool of thread 

you didn’t mean to drop. 

 

Your heart is tin. 

You’re trapped in bed,

 

an iron maiden

staring down the yellow 

 

eyes of the wolf. 

Another dawn limps in 

 

to eat your courage. 

A life like this.

 

What’s it worth?

Your tears smolder

 

like orchids.

You paint yourself.