The Paprika Vault
Where the spice smoke writes the next verse.
WHERE MY FIRST SLIP BECOMES THE SPINE
MY FIRST STUMBLE WAS THE CHILE THAT BURNED
MY TONGUE AND TAUGHT ME TO READ THE FLAME.
I DID NOT SWEEP THE ASHES.
I PLANTED THEM.
MY TONGUE AND TAUGHT ME TO READ THE FLAME.
I DID NOT SWEEP THE ASHES.
I PLANTED THEM.
Soul Record Aisle
Crackle as the seam that mends the silence.
The First Stitch
Mistake as the flower in the garden.
Bayeux Thread
Odo's tapestry breathing in my chest.