Comp{lex}

Feather flecks glitter Smokey frost “crunch” underfoot Carves craters of slush Grey whites sweat to bright Greens and young minty breeze “crunch” Small feet rhubarb patch Winds warm to thirsty Sighs frying tortoise haze “crunch” And spit apple seeds Summer’s exhale swirls With winter’s drawing breath “crunch” Leaves no time for pause Photo by Brianna Santellan on Unsplash

(a collective piece inspired by the "round-robin" poets - thanks everyone :) A chalky schoolbus rattled the dusty plane Leaving smoke outside the door of the cottage Alarms signalled something was wrong Ashen whispers reached our tongues and began to suffocate “God I can’t breathe,” she said, “not that I ever could” Came the reply, “I’ll burn your throat if you scream again.” But the song itself was more searing than the hottest iron, so she raised her voice Crooning the song of white beards and frayed kerchiefs Of a world she never knew A pain she had no right to That lulled us to sleep with its accented smoker’s croak Sending us away down the rusted tracks into sleep's fiendish arms Past your childhood cottage. No stopping to wave hello to Babi "Childhood eez an American fable" We were never allowed fables She would paint her own With unforgiving blacks and scalding charcoal that dotted her pallete Who knew black spanned so many shades? So she cackled with...

No, I won’t take off my mask. It’s mine, it’s more: it’s me. You ask an impossible task; why should I let you see? Do you have any idea what’s under here? I bet you think you do. I let you see what you need to see, or what I what I feel you do. No, I can’t take off my mask. I’m telling you, it’s stuck. Pull as hard as you’d like; trust me: I’ve tried. Good luck. It’s seeped into my skin, and hardened like cement Of months and years of pulls and tears, its tight grasp’s left a dent How does one take off a mask? Just let the whole world in? But I don’t want all chapters read; I need my plastic grin. A hidden chamber’s cheapened without the curtains drawn. So instead I’ll wear a cheap mask; look at that. Problem gone. I know I’m more than a mask. The question is: do you? I do feel trapped inside facades I wish I could slip through. It’s not always so pretty, beneath this mask of mine. My core’s not made of lemongrass; winds storm beneath “I’m fine.” A compl...