They Will Sew the Blue Sail

FOCI FOCI | Sophia Dahlin

I don’t even know what to do

when I’m not drawing your face

engines drop from cars

and cars roll

I can’t begin to stand

without my feet mixing

it’s that Saturday feeling

that ruffles my lungs

and makes my hands static

dipping and gliding

the bluebirds

sucking and spitting

mouths of some creatures

like people

I go rooting up

softness from exes

then glimmery distrust

a white wave pokes

from a blue continuum

I go my sweetheart sleeping

on a becandled mattress

all his hopes

single out someone

blowy heater

locus of supplement

heal a split lip

the wind won’t

and I backup when the wind steps

just in front of me

drowsy lips

and nasal barricade

with suffering

I can manage

putting down a pen

but I don’t know what to do then