unspool my black blotches
a cancerous Rorschach,
not knowing how to be
solid anymore
just
blotch
to
blotch.
unspool my black blotches
a cancerous Rorschach,
not knowing how to be
solid anymore
just
blotch
to
blotch.
“Not knowing how to be solid anymore.” Me likey. Also, all I see in that Rorschach image is Baba tossing football with Brandon in the backyard. You watch them thru the kitchen window, wearing some wrestling tights, a poem clutched in your pale right hand. A single tear rolls down your cheek as they smile at one another, the football carving the air with a father’s love.
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Lmao wrestling tights, touché.
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