(the night grenade)

My brain is the (at once) valiant.


(humming citrus shines)

My brain is the talent built out of feathers wrestling the meaningless midnight aims.


(break the bottled evening)

My brain is the calling attack of our genius unbound.


(and the races on)

My brain is the whisper weight of joy.


(slip, hold and low)

My brain is a fretless hour trembling underneath the sound of fire left (yet) in our lungs counted off the restless pyre.

(this machete kiss)

My brain is the glory slipping (bloodless, now) through the fiber of blackened fingertips.


(all along)

My brain is the brightest star in the crooked crown she hides behind her nervous feet when wishing she could be anyone, anywhere like she was when she first came here.

(a list of maws)

My brain is the mark that stole this lightning ride.


(holding streaks)

My brain is the letter left off the damage plan.


(less fault the skies)

My brain is the rebel roused from the daze of the young to remind us why we stayed behind this stomping ground so long.


(spear the asterisk)

My brain is the starlight crease cataloguing the means we still rely on for perfect endings.


(kicking guise)

My brain is the penny chance that the good things still come even when the waves that crooked our greatest heights have abated and we're standing. just standing. breathing steady and afraid.

(stowing bones)

My brain is the dog day spinning ballads for a pioneer.