by Kit Terrell
I’ve never been good with paint
A stutter is a landslide, my quiver is a clock
You weren’t great with words
A ball of energy chained down within your chest
I am a skeleton falling over in an eternal scream
There is rust lining the edges of your head
You love the water because it isn’t specific
All things grow old somehow, a weathered ship sinking, ceaselessly
Kit Terrell (he/him) is a poet who has been featured in Melbourne Culture Corner and Cerasus Magazine. He is currently bouncing around the east coast with his girlfriend, their daughter, and their two cats. He really wants a dog.
