DIAMOND · 11
JEALOUSY AS A BROKEN BASKET Kimberly Diamond From here I see small circles Spider Eyes the tiniest amount of everyone else A collective truth from the puzzle I make from broken bits and slimy bobs They are to me at night and put on you in day How do boxes place pressure on feelings when the weather changes from across the street? With so much air passing through I have yet to learn how to breathe so I suffocate myself into comfort Inside my broken box of fiendish circles I exist heavenly magic Inside my nest of vibrations the tornado of splinters make for good bedding A room for one so the walls don’t fall I see truth from the lens of my broken rattan all gouged with hardened memory scavenged from trash nets high atop poles littered with illusion