InvestSpring is a time to forgive, So I buried a puzzle box full of photos, evidence of what was. I picked the dark dirt from my fingertips, patting down soil with my shoes. And eight steps from an oak something decays, sinking in its soil grave.Invest
By August the last potassium particles of our love will fortify wild onions, and enrich dandelions. Green stems growing, transforming, redeeming.
Summer is a time to invest, I’ll read the Borges book that came in the campus mail Friday, And replace you with knowledge squeezed from pages and paragraphs. Sprawled on the library lawn, my legs
Elbows
HideawayFrida FingersIt began in second period American History towards the end of an Antietam documentary. Lane was sketching copies of Frida Kahlo paintings in the margins of her notes with a blue ink pen, when the planets moved into position. She was watching his guitar calloused fingers flipping through Abby Williams’ spiral blond curls. Lane’s fingers pressed harder on the pen, imprinting at least three pages down. Her gut twisted and curled when he thrust his legs apart on either side of Abby’s desk, his eyes following the strap of her bra, the small of her back, the sliver of a satin thong poking above sandblasted jeansFrida Fingers
or non pisces sum...
Which one is your poem about investment?
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