triple knuckled knocks in my moon like skull,

because you swear its hollow

and these are the last three times,

maybe I should just plant a tree

tongue, twisted, knotted and swallowed

so I don’t jinx my friends

a nonbeliever cursed to pray to god

for release, for a quiet mind

picking up and putting down and,

picking up and putting down,

and picking up and putting down

you are an uneven weight I can’t seem to drop

even if I hit the door frame with both

of my arms

you know that if I were to bruise

I’d sit there ‘til there’s one on either side

I wonder if you’ll make me die twice

mountain ridge wrinkles, cracks in the flesh of my palm

from soap that isn’t “clean” enough

you want what’s best for me

but only you seem to know how to get me there

will my children be cursed to live their lives in three’s

in symmetry, compulsion,

misery

or will they grow a tree