This Is Still
In this there is a lie. I’ve pulled the bindweed from your mouth for the last time. I am still. I sit locked. But see how everything moves. Pull the coolness from these stems these leaves these flowers. In place of petals only stone and shell. A crawling where your teeth were. You are so changed now. A thing only dreamed. A promise. An empty vase. These words unread these books these eyes. You are still. You sit locked.
Dear Suburbia 