Discord
I am standing, sleeveless, wind-soaked night- gown. To dream myself, dislodged, in this midwest is the dream. How a lower spine will be rebuilt. My body has become a tiny house parked in the mud, west. Too many visitors. After- noon greyscale creeps like fingers in congress with music- less piano. Keys bleed as I worry by. I’ve lived long in the brain of the med- waste. say say say the way the weight gives wave a feeling of failing fanning the fame they hold me, whole like home someone reads and it's real like red my fingers on the flanger while we figure out our hours for thought tw/cw: disordered eating cram-cheeked at the ice- box getting warmed every night by the light of the refrigerator. the cabinet creaks someone awake and aware but nothing’s said. stomach has its wars. brain knows sleep knows better. this battle bulges the belt-line. jaw aches in taste while hot tears won’t cry. no sorry when the lesson unlearns how to swallow. slow- spoken at the table as grace on the in-breath as bellies mimic fullness.BIO: K Weber is an Ohio poet. She has self-published 6 free online poetry book projects in PDF and audio formats for over a decade. Her forthcoming digital collection: A SUM OF OUR POETIC PARTS: VOLUME 1 will be released in 2022 and features more of her poems that incorporate words donated by others! All of her projects, her writing and photography credits, and more at her website: http://kweberandherwords.wordpress.com
IG: instagram.com/midwesternskirt
Twitter: twitter.com/midwesternskirt
Fevers of the Mind 