I’d never touched my grandmother’s forehead
on the day we found her passed out,
but I wanted to try.

Let me hold one finger up
to your immeasurable worth
and shatter it,

auburn sunset mahogany
truckbed glint
of the shine

puddles pooling rivulet
jagged curl take off your pack
let the engine do the talking

on the trek spin tall tales
weaving lemon
drop legs with mine

my zest your
rind my whipped
sugar meringue your

I’m always grabbing the rug,
pulling it out from under tyrants,
and shredding it right in front of them,
and then in front of wanderers unsuspecting

the tyrants wanted to take on some sleight of hand
carpet ride. Because I’ve this magical power
to squash all trickery, and I don’t like watching
megalomaniacs’ woven enchantments

Ah, the enchanting thread—
not the way it connects everyone
but how we’re so enamored
over the part connecting