i. her, one perspective,
is secular and simple with blue
plastic eyes and split thumbprints.
and, in a word her is ambiguous
like variety flower packs from
the local wal-mart, or similar.
familiarly, she craves more than
this world has to offer her in one
breath, in one hand. her hangs
her hopes on one street sign
and rarely exhales past these
insecurities, or more accurately:
inevitabilities.
ii. her, with loose words and
flat eyelashes, curls her finger
around hair strands, and
ponders god’s mistakes; her thinks
of errors and what clouds mean.
iii. and her, angular, plurally craving
