Starting the First Poem

Hair wrapped up in a haphazard bun a softness in a tired expression glancing from the cat to the spot on the ceiling. back to the cat. fingers itching for some direction Knowing they can do what the mouth can’t. frosting on some dreamscape that needs to be breathed alive. ears always pressed to floor boards listening to the radio fuzz of human interaction never finding a part of it. Finally pencil flirting with paper tattooing on her white flesh letter combinations. Thumb prints on the universe