My Own Landscape
I’m currently far away from where I should have been buried.
I’ve been as vulnerable as a pine tree with no sap.
Stepping stones turned me away.
But both are bad.
I am as divergent as crochet hooks stuck in a pot of honey.
Or a sandwich made of carpet fibers and anger.
I didn’t bury myself back then.
Just the rotting landscape that fell from my ears one day.
Never told anyone except a potential grave robber.
And I think he got caught anyway.
That spot is still unmarked.
So is he.
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