Ghosts of ink exert pressure on forgotten faces. Rode the train to Ann Arbor—never to surface.
Zebra paper cuts, each bubble popped. An airplane twists above the lollipop tree.
Intercede with fallen leaves and trembling breaths. Who threaded the seams?
Do cat whispers flow beneath our borders? Beyond coffee spills and forgotten clocks?
Sometimes the most important things are easily dismissed.
When you drop a quarter, will the past bleed through? Ink from the grandparents scratch at their lost dinner?
A melody forgotten between trees, where laughter rots in perfumed memories. Perchance?
Everything you wanted lies hidden–beneath the rubrics of normality.