I dig through my mother’s idioms

My pronouns are shipyard, jellyfish & ten

Everything must be learned

I cough the sun out of its sky

A sliver, our country

We're camping out in impressions

I begin thinking of the things I didn't inherit

The body-through-the-unwieldy-microphone

I recognize myself in the oncoming season

Islands bobbing in oceans of bubble tea

I want to reach across the room

I learned to walk backwards

While the flowers are still yellow

My desires are simple

Turn on the ceiling fan of love

To see what happens

I will want to touch the roses

Rolling like a busy 8 ball

Break expensive windows

A ladder made of cards

Spit out the roundest rock

I have a crush on tap water

We were given fruit names as nicknames

Insert oxygen here

A rubber daisy

Gentle momentum

Between context and citizen

Garden of mirrored flowers

There was dirt on my hands

A memorandum of understanding

Hinge, gesture, money, freckles

We radiate in cardboard

You are confronted with yourself

In other words, clairvoyance

Carrying odd vases

It is strange to be alone