no title just yet, and a very rough draft...inspired by a line by Major Jackson

Look, I don't want the lions ripped

apart. The mere thought of harshness

garnered from what faces receive

me through the doors and hallways

is old, unused milk I can't open or

throw away just yet. Milk was

once something I loved, it rhapsodied

the four solid eyes of each hour

of the afternoon, it piled, it was snow.

I can't tell now if milk means, moon
or enough; if careful means,

Come and ride bicycles with me, share

my hand as we walk. It is uncertainty

like a claw in the face of much more than that.