hoof
it started growing
when I was a teen
and now
there’s no stopping it
the small sign
of the devil inside
the trickster figure
they told me lived there
ephemera
a loop
a coil
a half-signature
of personhood
stacked and collected
in a pile
of other
docs
and
forms
lullaby
lie to me
and tell me
you love
me always
lie to me
and make
me empty
promises
even though
your skin
smells like
someone else’s
bottle
sing to me
a song of sleep
tell me it’s fine
and all well
and going to
be well
in the morning
we will see
what makes you think
what makes you think
that just because
you publish my little
poem
you have some kind of right
to it
and I can’t use it elsewhere
did your mind create it
no
did you put your love
into it
no
so don’t chain my words