We stay ready – we don’t need to get ready. We spring after winter, a breeze of / competition. Eyes prying youth open to look inside at our becoming, hips spreading womanhood / wide east & west.

don’t talk don’t even blink / don’t be sing or seem i mean / the typa that also makes you / contagious

oh, thank god he said, cone. my fists bloom / flat palms to spoon back into my pockets, / though the scorpion scratching my cochlea / continues like a skeptic testing theories.