I always thought I was
well-rounded and acquiescent.
My edges have been invisible
for years but limitless is
a fiction like the bilge
of dumbfounded ideas
tattooing the other
parts of me.
So I’ll spin tarts
out of their fiction
bake them like I
bake my mind
and genetics daily
hoping the heat
will round me, surround me,
shear the edges away
light me on fire
like she did
in the spotlit hills
music in her eyes
fight and dreams
on her voice
like the waves
I keep thinking of.
