Oil Paints

My heart.

A marble in a 55-gallon oil drum.

And the rusted bottom is flaking out

Chipping shards, and my sharpest regret.

Every word having been spoken,

Brokenness. BUT BUT BUT.

By this new song, the rumbling drum… slick spillage… marble bangin’,

I undress Reality; This is an unforeseen curve…

She, who until now, was so afraid of being known.



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