I am the starving bear this autumn, craving an iceberg between the shoulder blades. That shovel in my grave is keeping my foot out of it.
Troubled thoughts hit sidewalks. I put ours to the pavement, only to circle back and struggle with the key in the door. Home will forever be in your stare, and I'm locked out.
This is me... standing tirelessly in front of the mirror, picturing myself with your hand in mine.
