by: Shelbi Henny

crippled in mystic transit
taking the evidence 
to receptacle
lifting fingertips that scratch
wood 
beaming from excitement
knowing its no good
that produce silver
when all I knew was gold
cohabitating 
in this space
that leaves me unsure
when that feeds me 
comfort to racing into past 
discretions
I once closed in blankets 
and shipped up creek
knowing more than less
losing less than more
withstanding whispers of judgement
I remain crippled in 
transmitting my evidence 
of mystic receptacle pain
scratching my fingertips on steel
that peel beams of wood 
to crushing excitement 
wanting whats good