“POCKETFUL”

Sucked vermilion out of his bottom lip

“i dig it”

the clock has melted on the nightstand 

there’s a hole amidst a frozen lake

pierced by stones we threw violently at it,

the water beneath screams 

letting wet marbles say

thruths we already know

your existence pains me 

blueberry soul running

through snowy trees, 

his pockets full of pellucid stones.

M.L. December ‘24