everything lies as a trap gleeful fill the belly and strike
.
this pond, remarkable by depth,
and fearing every inch
.
at the tip of pin and worry those wings fight to be counted
at root, nothing at all
.
stagnant in surface grime and trash in green in dark shade, without fence,
i sink between its mirror
.
a secret pond named by a feral child,
alone and only this
.
Cowardly i hate afraid of your pain
let me be to be mine
.
something tickled then crumbles curls and fumbles against
some mountain from some-where,
it moves, buckles then ire
.
laying on the finger, gnaw my thrash and the ropes tear,
the itch bends breaks and I crumble
.
even grace in not saving
but haunt shouting and weep
wish it weren’t true
ThirdLakeBurn 