the voice is in a
mason jar in a
fridge in a
soup kitchen
the sea queen’s
wrath in a
handful of herbs in
a pepper shaker
she cries, in
a lethargic metamorphosis
in a subway
station in
sine waves wishing
for her voice
in the mason jar
to be devoured
in a song
that reminds her
of home under
water, all the
patrons in their phones
clicking away in
choice lives now
in a cellophane dream
in a line in
a shotglass the
subtleties abstain
her in a
cocktail dress in
phantasmagoria in
an asthma attack
the siren
sits on the edge
of her chair
wishing for a
sailor in a white
robe in a passive
aggressive kiss
with chapped mouth
licked her neck
in a straight
line to her
chest in a
flashback in a
scent connecting
dots of other
selves images in
a night in
a memoir in a
book read over in
her head in
her voice
in a
mason jar