Used Crayons and Ripped Paper
They converse, white teeth,
enzymes diminishing pretty photo copied paper.
Skeleton cream walls surrounds
Old Yeller (her license barely printed horizontally) and me.
6 AM, day two:
Acupuncture draws blood,
All here are HIGH RISK.
Porcelain lips crack
‘til Vaseline coats seep.
Absent coffee morning,
caffeine free and a gum free security.
Old Yeller raises her quiet chin,
ceiling glass taking motion pictures.
An entire Lost and Found building
dedicated to being an empty box.
Feet pace in hurried clicks.
Moans of distress inhale sipping
paper cups, sample size disguise
intoxicating helpers burns edges of neurons.
Our maps drop globs of ash
Burning our memories incomplete.
Legs do not walk themselves
I asked before she left,
“May I borrow your crayon and paper?”