Ask

Memories linger by the door 

as eyes mark the shape

of cold darkness—

defensive, unscrupulous,

building up moment by moment 

against a sky the color of

laundered-to-the-perfect-fade jeans. 

Ask a stupid question: 

the way it looks is 

not the way it is.    

Source:

A remixed poem composed from a series of first sentences of novels.


Note: First published in The Sunflower Collective (Oct. 2016)