Out in the alley, dandelions shake
their manes of pollen and memories
hunt me. The icicles have left a jagged
emptiness on the jaw of the house.
Wind tousles the dust. A dark eyed
junco twists its drab head at me.
The neighbor’s dog chases something
around the roots of a buckeye.
My thumb rubs circles into the back
of my hand. I’ve wrecked my wrists
from too much grasping. I practice
holding nothing. As the sky wheels
above, I am uneasy. The ground
might tip too far back and send me
tumbling over the sharp edge
of the horizon.
Rook Poetry 
I like this one. It has a feeling of being balanced on the edge. As we all are.
Such striking imagery!
This is absolutely incredible. I was going to quote my favourite bits here, but honestly it’s basically half the poem by weight!
I love this style of poetry, verging on beat poetry, and with stunning imagery, especially:
‘Out in the alley, dandelions shake
their manes of pollen and memories
hunt me’
and
‘…As the sky wheels
above, I am uneasy. The ground
might tip too far back and send me
tumbling over the sharp edge
of the horizon.’