we have thoughts
piled on desks
scratched onto receipts
or scraps of paper
stolen from books

the world’ll go
catatonic one day,
and all that’ll be left
are post-it notes
on computer screens

poems in margins
lists on counter tops
novels in cd cases
haiku on roofs,
loveletters on shoulders.


there’s a silhouette of a face
i’ve seen every moment
of every waking day
plastered on the walls
of every inch of me.

one day it’ll take me
till there’s nothing left
but overflowing gratitude
for all the years she painted
the walls of this prison
bright with her face.