No One Wants to Play+Born weeping and fair faced on a Monday,+I came a dormant geologic storm,+spewing hatred at golden birds of prey,+still cupping my trembling breasts to their form,+ for I would rob the sky of rain and calm+for a possibility of long love;+in song cut my swathe in a full dance hall;+the witnessing; a final hand in glove.+ My glue song warbles, hung on bated breath,+witness to lonely incapacity,+when the sea pulls on the last of my breath.+Clement seas are still wed to destiny.+ Come Friday, no neighbors left to play with,+above is everything a sky can be,+and oily seas lap the edge of my breath,+the looming peace of death as I balloon.+ The grass on the other side browned in war,+one passed is no more, one’s past is no more.+
