Anna Lei

Broken Images

Secrets furled into silvery webs



of an iris. How long are we going to keep



cutting this thickness with an axe?



Our heartbeats stomp wildly on



tenuous string. It won’t be long before



the string snaps into



sperm writhing on the cold hard floor.



I know you know. Your fingernails



give you away. You should cut them



if you don’t want the others to know.



I chop off my bangs when I don’t want to



read about the meaning of life. (Sometimes, it’s better not to know.)



In the woods, I hurled all the words hanging between my teeth



into the fire. Smokey Bear, don’t you dare say it’s up to me.



It’s haunting— the twinkling sounds of the rolling brooks



in the heat of this storm the meteorologist predicts



sunny skies for days.



I’m praying for rain.