Spiral

Since I didn't write my "two for Tuesday," I wrote two for today's Poem-a-Day prompt.

Photo by Paige Foster

At some point over the past one-
hundred-nine-thousand-five-

hundred-breaths, I forgot how
to amuse myself. Lost in clusters

of Quaking Aspens, slipping on
soggy orange, oil-painted leaves,

corners of my smile beset by angled,
eternal niche, unlike my heart,

stolen from its cardboard case, crow
murders calling out to the plane

of the departed, groves of Devil’s
Walking Sticks, thorny, spread

by suckers, those who come to visit,
praying for your return.


*****