My life is a stranger that I am doomed never to meet.
A seed that sits in my stomach awaiting to sprout.
I leach all colour.
Swallow it in.
Breath it back out.
Swallow and hold the breath,
let it sit there between the lungs and between the mouth,
a moment neither living or deceased.
Hollowed out, like a gourd on October 31st
I am patches stitched together with a penciled-in grin,
I am the spare implements that sit in the back of kitchen drawers and dust bunnies and cloud-coloured cobwebs fluttering in corners enticed by a meager draught, I am the other parts undefined.
D R Forest 2012 ©