Written by: Jennifer Ratcliffe

Soft string tarnation
with their tentacles
sucking bruises
I make with the bed-
it starts there
it lives here.
Cheek bones are too fragile
to stream the time
like your bleeding toes do
eternally by the day,
the shore walkers tide.
But I long,
both in hand and in it's palm lines,
I long to break toes
and grow wings.
And this is how I feel,
honest and paralysed;
life is a charge of bones and flesh.