By: Shelbi Henny

this was a process 
to sink deep into monotone 
that flourish in oxygen 
that feed into the streets 
of graffiti 
and painted signs 
that lead me on 
that pull strings 
and taper voices
leaving me silent 
swimming in thoughts 
grooving into guitar strings 
that caress by your fingertips
and mold me in clay
punctual to terror 
that seems sensual
to unknown outcomes 
that leave you in fountains 
slowly sipping water like fruit
tantalizing the image of you 
searching in corners of food 
when knowledge spills in paragraphs 
to stories that commute 
fast trains traveling into loading 
capabilities lusting 
in inadequacy
completing the motions 
of signing the truth 
languages make no sense
just moves