Non-Sonnet For Traipsing AroundBetsy Wheeler
The path starts wherever. Every time I open my eyes I see. Darkness bends around my wrists, so I count the tones ringing in my ears or bird cries. At night, I wrap my arms around my head & wrangle verbs to save the prairie dogs out there. This trail I’ve set myself on—I couldn’t. I wonder about the length of the family vein. My cousin has a Wurlitzer. Light in the corners of my eyes. These arms. I have flashing points. I have so much love for whomever.
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