Start with a house made of matches. 

My heels squish in the marshy ground. I demolish tortilla chips with a plastic fork

My twin spends our final day of teenhood in a cloudy Cincinnati apartment

When the future star was sweeping cereal dust upon weathered wooden floors

if i could paint a moment in time, i’d take a clouded paintbrush. 

i dreamt of you last night 

Hair descended from dandelions. 

  1. we, clouded with error create from the language of breath   an earth, murked without  wisdom but the reaching of so many hands