Lizzy Burnam 🐞

taking a summer nap on a Sunday afternoon 
drowning in delusion 
my curious tongue, testing the waters for salt or sewage 
the steadfast dam of some people’s hearts 
my sisters, for having become who they are 
the richness of words and feeling 
both sleepy and restless 
well, temperance seems an untenable thing
when I can’t keep track of both hands, both eyes 
too large to be so plain 
an echo of myself in their narrowed gaze 
a certain directness, as in arrows
a softness, as in soil
moon, ghost, home, for goodness’s sake 
the poems 
on the mountain with a pulsing view of everything 
dancing 
body free and perfect 
I left, I learned, it’s over 
a seahorse, floating, flirting 
below the vaulting desert sunset of New Mexico
my opals and my pink gel pens 
the emptiness, the aggravated boredom
of a writer
the battle between my quiet mouth, loquacious mind
an honest introspection
Emily, Anaïs, Mary, and poor Edwin the malcontent
a pure woman 
a fallen woman 
a woman somewhere in between 
those meaning love, leader, industry
the clouds but not the rain 
not learning to love life sooner 
gently, gently 
where your heart goes, your head will follow