AntiPinkLoveAngel

three letters holding manificent miniscule powers in patterns in curves and valleys of penmanship choking possibility and stepping on the fragile fingers of security destroying. doubt. meeting me at the end of a pause waiting to watch the smile slide from the corners of my gleeful face making wrinkles around my eyes point down to the dirt between the grass blades. it burrows under fingernails pushing aside the sand and paint flecks caught against tender listening skin. maybe, perhaps. beauty in uncertainty.

I want to burst through the canvas and curtains on the sides of the movie screen. As a doe. While my shell waits in her cushioned seat, counting the spots on my back. A white freckle for every message you didn't answer. (Every call you promised.) I let my phone fall into the swallow, the roiling sea of warm, wet, worn, maroon velvet mouth, humming.

Sometimes my words spill out of my mouth and slide through my fingers like sunscreen-greased children on cheap plastic waterslides. They're like the overeager and sweat-glistened tourists, arriving at the gates before the Aspirin assuages throbbing hangovers, skillets prepare to bastardize mediocre meats, and mechanical monstrosities groan for the security of oiled gears.

it's fascinating how the water dapples in the sun as it speeds polishing compounded mulch and leaves into liquid scales of diamond. how every leaf, a crisp featherweight carcass, abandons its mother tree to spiral, plunge toward the virgin page i tattoo with my dry pen wet ink, landing with a sharp tap, tagging the sixteenth line, as if it feels the kinship, brotherhood it shares with the paper fellow child of wood. how when the two mix fluid and foliage one tries to choke the other, jealousy by Movement-arrested, Rustling-stilled, of Gurgling-mirror, One Who Rushes between stained concrete walls [I write this page, o