Also Mutants

Little Holes

7-15-17

There is so much more I need to tell you.
Not here. Away from where we last met.
This is how we love. This was how we loved.

burned poets braised on broken sidewalks
opened and closed          forming little holes
every time another step closer toward
nowhere          additional words torn
from a scalp of notebooks
passed on- no looks-
but scars held place          like scribbles
spiral wires left trim broken little holes
shifting the burden of proof to you

You won't be able to untell the story after the book
has been closed. There is an almost undetectable
plot line boiling underneath the surface. We are in
pre-production. The author has died of
mysterious circumstances. Full stop.

There is so much more I need to tell you.
I don't remember where I left off. I don't know
where to begin. Where did you begin? We are
history. Making. Revealing. Punctured. Paused.

Sincerely Ours,
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