Notes On a Wrist

"Notes on a Wrist" the pulse felt under nibs of fingertips translates a life the semicolan stretches like the devil hungers it can wait a long time eternally feeding you drip by drip ever present the missing hovers, like a hummingbird never sits beak and feet wet in the detail tasting the temptation to cut strings fleeting and fickle like a child switches graces the keys black and white the forest contains all your precious things hard to leave leaves, all their autumn winter stories sentences written and spent like veins singing stinging the body of work temporary rent (LadyLabyrinth / 2023) "There is a fable in the forest whispered by branches as they blow, a tale about the truth of leaving things that no longer help you grow. For on the surface it looks simple; like you need only lace your boots, but there is nothing quite as painful as untangling your roots. And proof is found in tree stumps of the price some pay to flee, that they would cut their lives in half, to cut the time before they're free. Yet from the little left behind Life has been known to grow again, for unless you take your roots, a part of you will still remain."