and lately

i question divisions and their necessity;
the reasons behind their origins
when all i see is the point where all things meet.

i tend towards tails and odd numbers,
and those that can. and do.

i burn.
blood and oils together,
wondering if it'll help.

the spectator and the spectacle
hand stitching memories of myself as child bride
and looking, as always,
for the beauty that's less pretty, less obvious;

like that found here,
fighting through it's prison of ribs;
prism splitting light
on my weathered soul with it's soft cracks
and such small beautiful wrinkles.