poetry Writing

Poetry Maybe #12

What can you do when the ladder breaks

and shatters your intentions into thoughtful pieces

that fly higher than that tall girl who was always on ecstasy.

Remember how she strained her body into prying positions? In closets

under the stairs. Behind dead of night doorways

She can’t reach the polished star without a ladder even with her platform pumps

and

dirty elastic giraffe neck.

Does a person get dirty when they are outside of their body?

The ladder is haunted. We knew it this whole time.

We can’t articulate this to non-fiction people. Only the fictional ones get it.

A terrible economy

is trivial to a ghost. And the giraffe.

what would be incentive for tall ladies to

behead the fleas

burst their dreams of going on vacation

priority of spending time with their children

joke and play games

to commemorate

the moderate weather forecast that they thrive in

But now we wait to see if we can reach the star

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