It’s Better When the Furies

It’s better when the Furies

are within. They have

more room to

say.

I gave

them an

entire wing

in the southern

forest of my disquiet,

where they dance

recrimination

and

howl

decay.

I allow the

situation of their

continuation, with

occasional gray, and

mostly

dun:

memories.

Waiting for the day

of defection, gets

easier.

At Park Street, She

At Park Street, she

got

off

the

Green Line, and

moved

quickly,

with the energy

of the exodus,

to the stairwell

and the sunlight.

Having

written

with conviction

her existence, in blue

sharpie on the only

available paper

of her skin,

she

carried

the words,

unrevised and

perfectly spelled,

into the consciousness

of

out

there.