chimney or tipi

i started out a reporter
gathering facts underneath my fingernails and broken pencil leads in my pockets i built stories from the margins in
i drove phrases between parenthesis and cornered broken opinions quilting them into quotes and
slathering the page with all the
shit people never say

i climbed failed classes and family issues
(“I have to pick up another job to pay for school”
ive never even taken the time to sew up the holes in my pockets because
another dollar will always fall between my grubby fingers)
i climbed angry bosses and half empty diet coke cans
(keep the pop tab)
crumbling midnights like exams slashed in red x’s

i was an editor

and then i picked up the red pen, bitter
or just select all delete
the hairs on my arms standing like sentries
stiff in angry discomfort and

I whined about the contorted syntax sprawled
in dog piles at my feet
stories stacked haphazardly
(fire: chimney or tipi?
news papers torn to nurture blue rooted flame)
“four lines for a sentence who fucking writes this”

for word documents heavy
and journal pages inked
i choke on leaden words rising like nauseous tears

i’m destined for kindling

select all delete


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