(Untitled) by Carrie Olivia Adams


In the cave, you know your own lies, the stars up your sleeve. A universe made from your own dust. On the floorboards, in the eaves. Even now, I make a cave with my knees. Meanwhile, I grow old in pencil shavings. The chalk of a week of eat & repeat. A season of burial, low tide, repeat. My body washed up on a sheet. There was no sleep, then only sleep. Remember sadness, immovable. Remember my palm a foreign thing. 

What said the strangers when we could not read their lips?